Never Downton Land
by Chelsie Dagger
Summary: December 1902- AU. Following closely behind the events of 'Training Wheels'. Carson is reading the young Miss Crawleys the new play, 'Peter Pan'. Lord Grantham returns from Africa. Starts with lots of fluff, but does have more serious moments. A Very Carson Christmas in London! Other stories in this AU; Training Wheels, Moving Forward and Moving On. NO SEASON 4 SPOILERS.
1. Ch1: Tinkerbell

**Chapter One- Tinkerbell**

December 1902

Elsie Hughes approached the kitchen with caution. It was well past midnight. Strange lights flickered as she reached the door. He was huddled over a small spirit lamp at the sink. She observed him for a while from the doorway and smiled.

Things were good between them now, though they'd gone through an awkward patch late in the summer. They had both been overly familiar during the whole bicycle fiasco and had over corrected their behavior. She had pulled back from him, never instigating any late night meetings and determined to turn down any offers. But there had been no offers of tea or wine after a long day. He had withdrawn from her as well.

They had muddled through August being civil but not friendly to one another. It had been a painful month and Elsie had begun to wonder if she'd made the right decision to remain at Downton, but then something had changed. Elsie didn't know what it was, but one day, he smiled at her at breakfast and she smiled back. He had poured her tea and asked if she had a moment to spare that evening to discuss some personnel changes that would accompany His Lordship's return. And, just like that, they were friends again; comfortable sharing a quiet sip of wine in the evenings and sharing the burdens of their work.

Thankfully, the teasing had returned too, though it was more guarded and there was perhaps less innuendo than before. "What are you doing, Mr. Carson? Mrs. Patmore said you were burning things in here and I did not believe her."

If she startled him, he did not show it. "What do you think, Mrs. Hughes?" He sprinkled something into the tall, thin chimney globe of his lamp. Bright yellow flecks sparkled and sparked to fill the glass with dancing light. He smiled proudly.

"Before I answer, might I ask what you are trying to accomplish?"

"I am trying to make a believable Tinkerbell."

She was not sure her hearing was working properly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carson. It sounded like you said 'tinker bell'. What is that exactly?"

"She's a character from the story I am going to read with the young ladies. She's a fairy." He looked confused. "Or a sprite. I am not sure there is a difference."

"It has been a while since I was a wee lass who followed such stories, but I believe all fairies are sprites, but not all sprites are necessarily fairies."

He laughed, "It was a rhetorical question, Mrs. Hughes, but I am not surprised to find you have an answer."

"Oh, you'll find I've an answer for nearly everything, Mr. Carson. Except exactly what you are doing. And so, we are back to my original question."

"I want it to look as though I have a fairy trapped in this lamp. I've heard that you can burn different salts or granules to get an interesting reaction from the flame." He was not about to mention where he had heard this little bit of information. As far as he knew, she had no idea of his life on stage. Now if he could only remember exactly what the magician had told him. "I've been trying different materials, but I've narrowed it down to four. Which do you think looks more like a fairy?"

He took up some powder from a small dish. The flame burst and popped a lovely, yellowish green. "One?"

"Not bad. What was that?"

"Borax."

"You've been raiding the laundry?"

"I didn't take much." He assured her. "Now, two." He repeated his earlier action, using a different source. The light was brighter and almost pure white. It seemed harsh amongst the usual gas light of the kitchen.

"That's pretty impressive."

"Epsom salt." He answered her unasked question.

"Have you tried smelling salts?" She offered, enjoying the game now.

"Yes. And there is a reason they are so named. I'll not subject you, or the girls, to that." He winced at the memory of ammonia burning his nostrils.

"And table salt?"

"That was the one when you came in; the orange one. Now, what about this one?" His tone told her that she was supposed to like this one best. She hoped she could oblige him.

A strange, violet, almost white light flickered through the kitchen.

She was glad that she would not have to lie to him. "Oh. That's the one, Mr. Carson. Whatever is it?"

"It's a mixture of my own making; potash and salt peter." He boasted.

"Salt Peter? Are you trying to blow up the nursery?"

"Of course not. Actually the gun powder was pretty good on its own, but the sulfur was too pungent."

"And what exactly is pot ash and how did you procure it?

"Mr. Jarvis has been experimenting by adding it to the manure on some of the farms. It's supposed to be a source of Potassium for the crops. I don't really know anything about it, but it burns something lovely, doesn't it?"

"It does make a lovely light, Mr. Carson." She smiled at his obvious delight and pride. This was the unguarded side of Charles Carson that he saved only for the girls. Sometimes she was lucky enough to catch the edges of it.

"Well, that's decided. I think I shall sleep very soundly tonight. Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." He swept the remains of his experiment into the sink and washed them down.

"Think nothing of it, Mr. Carson. Good night, Mr. Carson."

"Good night, Mrs. Hughes."

She smiled as she climbed the stairs to bed. _Silly goose._ Just when she thought she had him figured, he was still able to find ways to surprise her.

TBC

**Disclaimer: Kids, don't try burning stuff at home. Adults, do whatever you want. **

**A/N- I have moved the original production of Peter Pan up two years. I began with faulty research, but enjoyed this story so much, I choose to ignore reality. The book that first introduced Peter Pan, 'Little White Bird', was published in 1902, which is how I got my years wrong. But there are no pirates in Peter's adventures in 'Little White Bird' so I'm sticking with the play. My apologies to anyone who cringes at anachronisms as much as I do. I feel your pain, but it was easier to move Peter Pan than it was to move the Second Boer War. **


	2. Ch2: Captain Hook

**Chapter Two- Captain Hook**

It was less than a week after she'd found him burning salt in the kitchen. The clock in the servant's hall struck midnight as she walked out of her parlor. The light still shone from under his pantry door. Sometimes, Elsie was convinced that he would stay up the whole night pouring over the ledgers if she did not remind him to go to bed. She knocked and stuck her head into his pantry. He was standing by his desk, with his back to her. Wonder of wonders, it looked like he was probably heading up soon himself. "I'll be saying goodnight then, Mr. Carson."

"Yarrr." Came the unconventional answer.

"I beg pardon?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes." He turned to face her. "I believe I clearly said, 'Yarrr!'" He flourished a great hook in front of his face.

She jumped up what felt like a foot and back about the same distance, clutching her hands to her chest. "Good lord!" She exclaimed from the hallway. "What in the blue blazes!?"

He rushed quickly out of his pantry to make sure she was okay. He brought the hook with him, but no longer brandished it. "I am so sorry, Mrs. Hughes. I was working on something else for the story for the children."

"Well, if you want them to sleep at all for the week after, I suggest a different approach." She said testily, though she was very close to laughing.

He looked more than a little disappointed. "Point taken. But how else am I to play Captain Hook?"

"And who is Captain Hook when he's at home?" Her heart rate had returned to normal and she was honestly curious.

"He's a scoundrel and a kidnapper, but mainly, he's a pirate."

"Wouldn't an eye patch be a little less dangerous?" She still did not trust the way he was swinging the hook around as he spoke.

"It would be, but he is not called Captain Eye Patch. He is called Captain _Hook_. The choice is rather out of my hands."

Her raised eyebrows were his first indication that he's said something funny. When it struck him, he laughed. "No pun intended, Mrs. Hughes, I assure you."

"That is a good thing, Mr. Carson. I was going to have to reevaluate my assessment of you were it intentional."

"We wouldn't want that, Mrs. Hughes," he said. But then a thought hit him. "Assuming your assessment is primarily favorable."

"Primarily." She looked down at the hook in his hand. "It isn't sharp, is it?"

He pressed the point to the palm of his hand and dragged it harmlessly across his skin. "One of the lads from the stables found it for me."

"Well, as long as you don't surprise them with it, I suppose it isn't so frightening. You have my approval, Mr. Carson."

His face brightened at her endorsement. "If you will vouch for me to Miss Randall, it would help me immensely."

Elsie tensed involuntarily at his mention of the new governess. Lady Grantham had finally suggested to Fraulein Kelda that this was not the home for her particular skills. Miss Randall was a marked improvement, but Elsie had taken an instant dislike to the young woman due to the overtly approving way she had of looking at one particular butler. _Not that he noticed_, Elsie noted with satisfaction. Though, he _had_ been spending a lot of time in the nursery recently. Elsie had assumed it was because he enjoyed spending time with the young ladies Crawley, but she had also wondered if it had anything to do with the new governess_. That is none of your business, Elsie Hughes, _she reminded herself. "And how would my approval help?"

"She's read the story and says it's too dark for the girls. I am trying to convince her that it is not too frightening; that all fairy tales are dark by nature."

"Many of them are." She agreed. "Why do you suppose that is?"

"Perhaps because it is human nature to want that which is the opposite of what you have. When we are scared, we want to be told tales of comfort. When children feel safest, they enjoy being frightened. But I don't believe Miss Randall agrees."

"But Miss Randall may have a point, Mr. Carson. Pirates and fairies can be unsettling things to consider right before bed, but I'm sure you would never do anything to upset the girls."

"Of course I would not! I've teased the story to them and they are very excited to hear it, even young Sybil."

"It seems you are going to a lot of trouble just to tell them a story." She fished, innocently for his motives. "May I ask what you are reading them? It seems very theatrical."

"It is, in fact, a play, Mrs. Hughes; 'Peter Pan'. Written by one of your brother Scotsman; a Mr. Barrie. Lady Rosamund sent it to the girls and has promised to take them to the new production when they are next in London."

"And, in your professional pride as a storyteller, you do not want to be outdone by the London production?" She could not admit to him that she knew about his history playing in the theatrical halls of England.

"Of course not." He puffed up proudly. "Also, it is serving as an excellent diversion. Before I mentioned the play to them, I believe they were fixated on His Lordship's delayed return. They talked of little else. Now, they only want to ask about when I am going to start the story."

Elsie relaxed a bit. Perhaps he was only going to all this trouble for the girls' sake. "It is taking longer than expected."

Mr. Carson nodded and then stepped back into his pantry, holding the door wider for her. With this economical and casual gesture, he invited her back into his pantry to continue their conversation. She nodded and followed. He continued to speak as he set the hook down and retrieved two small glasses and his personal bottle of port from his desk. "The delay of even a week seems like an eternity to a child and it is approaching four months."

"Miss O'Brien says they wouldn't let him travel right away because of his injuries, but that he should be well enough to travel soon." Elsie shared as she sipped the port. "It seems a shame. The war ended ages ago, it feels."

"He might even be on his way by now, though we've not been told anything."

"I understand Her Ladyship wants to meet the ship at Southampton when he returns."

"Hmm. And she wants to bring the girls." He grunted disapprovingly. The thought seemed to worry him.

"And shouldn't they be there to welcome him back?" She wondered why he objected to the idea, which seemed like a natural thing to her.

"Straight off the boat? I fear he will not be looking his best. He gets seasick even on short voyages. If his injuries keep him below decks in a bunk all the time, it will be worse than usual. I should hate for the young ladies first sight of him in over two years to be of a green-gilled, unshaven stranger. No, it is best if they wait in London. Then he can at least have a half day to make himself presentable."

"You're worried about more than his appearance, Mr. Carson." It was not a question.

"We've exchanged a few letters since he's been gone, about the household and such. And I've helped the young Ladies write to him. His spirits always seem high, but…" How could he explain? "You'll not remember much about him, I assume?"

"I only know what I heard from Lady Rosamund, who absolutely adores him, by the way. What little I saw of him, I remember he was jovial and seemed a good sort. What I know now of his family and household certainly supports that assessment."

"He is a good man, Mrs. Hughes, and usually very cheery. However, he is mindful of his responsibilities and they sometimes weigh him down. After his family, Downton is everything to him."

"As it should be."

"Yes, but, what I mean is, he doesn't really have any other interests." _Or friends, for that matter._ "He was rather a serious child. His marriage to Lady Crawley did wonders for his disposition, she made him more himself, if that makes any sense."

"I think I know what you mean. And you think he's changed in the years he's been away?"

"No one can be unchanged by war. I am worried that the experiences of war, coupled with being removed from his family, might have made him more brooding than before he left."

"And what has this to do with Lady Crawley and the young Ladies meeting him at the boat?"

Carson scratched his chin absently with the end of the hook, searching for the right phrasing. "His Lordship likes to control his own comings and goings. He does not do well with abrupt transitions. He is uncomfortable with big goodbyes or welcomes, especially when they center around him. I suppose I think we should smooth over the harsh disconnect between a life waging war and a life raising a family. If we can." Mr. Carson took the last sip of his wine.

"Perhaps it's a silly notion, Mrs. Hughes, but I can't help but feel that returning home by facing his family looking anything less than his best would be humiliating to His Lordship."

"I am not sure I agree with you that his appearance matters so much, but it is not a silly notion to want to protect him from any embarrassment."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." Carson looked down into his empty glass. She set her empty glass on his desk and sighed.

"Thank you for the wine. Good night, Mr. Hook."

"That's Captain Hook, to you." He corrected her sternly, before smiling. "And sleep well, Mrs. Hughes."

"Aye, Captain."

TBC...

**A/N Your reviews are very much appreciated. That didn't sound too needy, did it? Aw, screw it! **

**PLEASE REVIEW. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE! ;)**


	3. Ch3: The Crocodile

**Chapter Three- The Crocodile**

"You've been in a merry mood today, Mr. Carson." She leaned towards him as he passed her a bowl of stew and turned back to the tureen to fill his own bowl.

"Have I?" He looked genuinely perplexed as he considered the possibility. She tried to hide her amusement behind the plate of bread that was being passed around.

"I believe I even saw you spare a smile for Roger before dinner service."

"He had done an uncharacteristically good job setting the table and deserved recognition."

"And I believe I heard you humming when you were going over the wine ledger."

"Perhaps I am in a good mood, Mrs. Hughes. I unveiled the hook last night and the young ladies were duly impressed. We've not met Captain Hook yet, but I took your advice and decided to avoid startling them with it."

"So, no nightmares?"

"Hopefully not. I was just telling them about all the characters. We're starting the story properly tonight and I'll be using the fairy dust."

"That will be quite exciting for the girls."

"I hope so. I'll admit, it's a little exciting for me."

"So I can see. Do you require any assistance?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I think I have things well in hand. I plan to set a bucket of sand outside the door, just in case something goes amiss. It would not do to burn down the nursery."

"Indeed, it would not." She agreed unnecessarily.

They finished dinner without further conversation. Carson was intent upon eating quickly but maintained proper manners. Usually one of the last to complete his meal because he had to serve, Carson was one of the first to rise from the table this evening. A few minutes later, Mrs. Hughes saw him heading upstairs with a bucket of sand in one hand and his lantern with the tall chimney in the other. The play was tucked under one arm.

Mrs. Hughes decided this would be a good night to rotate the linens in the closet next to the nursery. She wanted to hear the ecstatic gasps of the girls when the pyrotechnics began. Taking a fresh load of sheets for the children's beds, Mrs. Hughes followed in his footsteps less than ten minutes after he had tread them.

In the hallway, she stood beside the bucket of sand and lay her ear to the door. Behind the nursery door, she heard his deep voice rising and falling as he read. Though she could not make out the words, she could hear him clearly enough to distinguish between the characters. She heard the girls giggle at his words. They practically squealed when he barked like an agitated dog.

Finally, his voice dropped low and sounded mysterious. Even through the door, she could feel the tension building. Suddenly, she saw the purple-white flashes under the door and heard the gasps, yelps and eventual laughter. Sybil's laughter carried clearly through the door and down the hall to echo in the grand hall. Elsie laughed with her, half burying her face in the clean sheets to stifle the noise.

There were more flashes of light under the door as Carson replayed the effect for the girls' amusement. Elsie decided she should actually deliver the sheets as she'd brought them this far. She walked a few doors down and opened the nursery linen closet. Soon, she was lost in her work; bringing the older sheets to the front and placing the latest linens to the back. It was not challenging work, but it was not a small closet, providing sheets for all the nursery beds and towels for the baths on a daily basis.

It was almost twenty minutes later before Elsie finished her work. She could have completed it more quickly, but she was waiting to accompany Mr. Carson downstairs. She was looking forward to hearing his proud recounting of the performance. She knew there was no one else to whom he could crow and it did her heart good to see him so happy. Elsie assumed the girls would be nearly asleep by now. As she approached the nursery door, she saw that the lights were indeed low.

The nursery door opened quietly. Elsie stepped forward to greet him, but stopped when she heard a woman's voice. "You're ever so clever, Mr. Carson. It's no wonder the girls think so highly of you."

"Thank you, Miss Randall." He was backing out of the room. Elsie was in shadow while the other two were bathed in the soft light from the nursery and the small circle of light cast by his lantern.

"Please, call me Daphne." She put a delicate hand upon his chest. He backed further, but she had steered him into the door.

"That would not be appropriate, Miss Randall."

"What do we care for propriety, Charles? Do you think I don't know why you spend so much time with the girls?" She gave him a look that was surely intended to be seductive. Elsie was glad to see that Mr. Carson looked dumbfounded and more than a little terrified.

"I truly enjoy spending time with the girls. With their father gone…" At this point, many things happened in short order.

Miss Randall grabbed Mr. Carson's lapel and pulled herself up for a kiss. Carson stepped into the hall, pulling away from her and tripping over the sand bucket. The lantern flew into the air as he fell to one knee, half catching himself. Elsie stepped forward to catch the lantern before it could clatter to the floor. She did succeed in catching the base of the lantern, which had blown out as it fell. Carson somehow managed to reach out and catch the chimney before it shattered on the rug.

"Damn!" She heard him curse in pain as he quickly dropped the hot glass onto the rug. She could just make out his kneeling figure in the dim light still coming from the nursery.

"Mrs. Hughes! What are you doing here?" Miss Randall demanded, seeing the housekeeper.

"I brought up fresh sheets, Miss Randall." Elsie snapped. This girl was not seriously attempting to boss her around. "Some of us take our jobs seriously." She went to Mr. Carson, who was still kneeling. He was searching his pockets. Just as she reached him, he struck a match. Understanding, she held the base of the lamp out for him to light.

Once it was lit, he used his handkerchief to lift the still warm chimney into place. Finally, he stood with as much dignity as he could muster. "Good night to you, Miss Randall." He picked up the mercifully unspilt bucket of sand with his unburned hand. With a look to Elsie, he said simply, "After you, Mrs. Hughes."

She led the way back downstairs, leaving the governess in the nursery doorway. Miss Randall shrugged as she watched the retreating figures of the butler and housekeeper, _Should have known that one was taken; the good ones always are._ Now she knew there was an understanding between the two heads of household, she would have to adjust her strategy for finding a bit of fun in this dull country house. _Maybe I should give that Roger fellow a chance after all._

Downstairs, Carson went directly to the kitchen and began running his hand under the water. There was no blistering and he knew it would not be a bad burn, but even small burns could become major problems for a butler.

"Are you all right?"

"I shall be able to serve tomorrow."

"I am glad to hear it, but that is not what I meant." She stepped closer, but still left a comfortable space between them. "Are _you_ all right? You were in quite a predicament."

Grabbing a clean cloth from beside the sink, he wet it and turned off the water. "Silly girl. I can't think what made her imagine…Do young people not understand this life anymore, Mrs. Hughes? Do they not understand that there are rules? Do they not understand the choices we've made to reach our positions?"

"I honestly do not know, Mr. Carson. Perhaps the rules are changing."

He looked horrified at the thought. "Well, I am grateful that you understand, Mrs. Hughes."

She wasn't sure that she was very proud of that compliment, but did not want to consider it further. "Do you think you ought to return to the nursery tomorrow?"

"The story isn't finished." He said, matter-of-factly. "And I cannot exactly explain to the young ladies what has happened. They quite like Miss Randall and she is good with them."

"Though almost anyone would be an improvement over the Fraulein."

"That is true." He grew very serious, even by his usual standards. "You don't think my conduct was improper, do you, Mrs. Hughes?"

"Not that I could see, Mr. Carson."

"She seemed to think I was visiting the children as a means to visit her. Sometimes I wonder what kind of homes these girls come from. One kind word and the poor things are infatuated."

"Fortunately for you, you are very guarded with your kind words."

He looked hurt by her comment as he leaned against the sink. She smiled to let him know there was no malice in her words. "And how did the young ladies enjoy Tinkerbell?"

He smiled at the change of subject. "You should know. You were listening at the door, were you not?"

"Guilty as charged. Lady Sybil seemed to enjoy it the most. She certainly has a wonderful laugh."

"That she does. It's so infectious, even Lady Mary could not help but laugh."

Elsie shook her head. "How can Lady Mary be your favorite when there is an angel like Lady Sybil about?"

"Not that you're biased." The expression on his face showed that he believed her to be quite biased; raised eyebrows and a small, accusatory smile.

"I don't know what you mean, Mr. Carson." She ignored his knowing look.

He considered her question carefully and then simply shrugged. "I suppose Lady Mary had already secured my loyalties before Lady Sybil had the chance. I would be a poor friend indeed if I abandoned her just because someone else came along."

"But Lady Mary is such a serious child."

"She wasn't always like that. Before His Lordship left for Africa, she was almost as sweet as Lady Sybil."

"That's not possible."

"I did say 'almost.' Since her father left, Lady Mary has ceased to be a little girl and has become a little Lady. I think she feels responsible for the estate with him gone. She's very like her father in many respects. She imagines the weight of the world on her shoulders all the time. As far as she is concerned, Downton is the world, so I suppose she is not wrong."

"Still, to be so serious at such a young age. I am sure you and I both had more difficult childhoods than Lady Mary, but I am sure we did not take it so hard."

"It is funny the things people find to worry about when they don't have to consider where their next meal will be coming from. Comfort breeds its own troubles, Mrs. Hughes. As ridiculous as they may seem to us, they are no less real. Even if most of her distress is self-made, it does not stop her from feeling it."

"Perhaps not, but it does make it more difficult to be sympathetic."

"I think we should drop this topic, Mrs. Hughes, or we may quarrel."

"And you do not wish for a quarrel?"

"Not when I can avoid it."

"Because you usually lose?"

"Only to you, but I fear you would find me very stubborn on this subject."

"And that is different from other subjects, how?" She laughed as he shook his head and turned back to the sink.

"Are you sure of your hand, Mr. Carson? I have some salve that might sooth the burn."

He considered for a moment. Would she offer to apply the salve herself? It would be a perfectly innocent excuse for him to hold her hand. No, that was too slippery a slope to tread. "I don't think that will be necessary, Mrs. Hughes. I think I was more shocked than injured."

"By the lantern or by Miss Randall?" There was laughter in her voice as she asked.

He chuckled, "It's ironic really."

"What is?"

"The crocodile isn't supposed to come after Hook for two more acts." The kitchen rang with their mingled laughter.

TBC...

**AN/ Thank you for the reviews (even the punny ones). I am still sorting the next few chapters and your words encourage me.**


	4. Ch4: Nana

**Chapter 4: Nana**

With Her Ladyship and the girls taking tea at the Dower House, it had been a rare slow day, Elsie admitted as she walked down the corridor towards the bizarre sight. _But it hasn't been _that_ slow._ "Mr. Carson, I am afraid to ask what you are about."

"Then perhaps you should not ask, Mrs. Hughes. I should think it's very obvious what I am doing." She forgave his initial shortness because she could see he was very frustrated. "You've eyes, have you not?"

"I have, Mr. Carson, but right now, my eyes are telling me that you are attempting to tie a lace cap onto the dog's head. So I do not trust my eyes at the moment." Simultaneously, they dropped their over serious demeanors and laughed. "And what part is poor Pharaoh to play in your children's story?" She walked past the kneeling butler and came to stand beside the surprisingly accommodating dog.

"Multiple roles, Mrs. Hughes. For one, he will protect me from Miss Randall."

"Good dog." Mrs. Hughes said quietly and patted the yellow lab appreciatively.

"And, he will be playing the role of Nana, the Saint Bernard who is governess to the children of the play."

"A Saint Bernard governess?"

"Yes, the girls were also skeptical of a dog for a governess, so I have to show them that it is possible."

"Well, I suppose it would keep costs down." After the other night, Elsie would have preferred a dog or even a cat over the current governess. "If only Miss Randall would be content to be paid in kibble and table scraps."

"If only." He laughed, finally finished tying the bow at the dog's chin. He leaned back and admired the effect.

"I really am beginning to doubt this author of yours, Mr. Carson. Even if he is a Scot."

"Well, I believe he lives in London, so perhaps he has lost his natural born commonsense." Dissatisfied with how the cap was sitting, Carson began to fuss with the ribbons again. "They say his work is highly autobiographical."

"A story about fairies, pirates and canine governesses is based on his own life?"

"Not literally, I would hope. I believe it's based more on how he sees the world. The play's full name is 'Peter Pan: the Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up.' Mr. Barrie's narrative voice is precisely that of a boy who never properly grew up. He has a childlike ability to see the natural absurdity in every situation. At least in the two works that I've read."

"And what else have you read by him?"

"It's called 'The Little White Bird.' It's an absurd little book, but it was enjoyable. There is a Saint Bernard in it as well, named Porthos. The main character treats him like a child. Even buying him toys."

"Toys? For a dog? That is absurd. What kind of toys would a dog enjoy?"

"He buys dolls or wooden soldiers; anything that can be carried about in the dog's mouth. Apparently, the dog eats the toys and then gets sad when he can't find them, so his owner goes to buy more and tells the shop girls it's for a child." Carson chuckled and shook his head. "I'm not doing the story justice. It's very cleverly written. I believe I laughed out loud when I read the part about the depressed dog looking for his toy. His master didn't want to tell him the truth because it would hurt his feelings to know that he'd eaten it. You may borrow the book if you like."

"Is it not in the library?"

"No. Lady Rosamund made me a gift of it as thanks for reading the play to the girls."

"That was very thoughtful of her."

"It was."

"And how did she know to send it to you? She sent the play to the girls, did she not?"

"No. She sent both the book and the play directly to me. There was a note included for the young Ladies telling them about her plans to treat them to a night at the theatre when they visit."

"But how did she know you would be willing to read it to the girls?"

"Because I read to her when she was a girl, though I was only a hall boy then." Carson was nearly satisfied with how secure the cap was on Pharaoh's head. The dog was nonplussed by the whole business. He was just happy to be fussed over.

"Sometimes I forget how long you've been with the family, Mr. Carson."

"I left a few times, but I've not been able to stay away. I almost left again, when the war started."

This was news to her. "What do you mean?"

"I wanted to go to Africa with His Lordship, but the Army said I was too old. They would not accept me for service."

"You tried to enlist for the war?" She had a bizarre vision of Mr. Carson marching alongside a column of soldiers, dressed in his white tie and tails. Mrs. Hughes felt an inappropriate urge to giggle.

"How else could I look after him?" He asked seriously.

This doused her urge to laugh. He was obviously still ashamed and felt that he'd failed his Earl. "I am sure you've been more help to him here than you could have been in Africa. Without someone he trusts looking after his family, how could Lord Grantham have been expected to focus on staying alive?"

Carson conceded her point reluctantly. "I am certainly glad that he has survived. If he had not…" Carson choked on the words. He had to remind himself that Lord Grantham _was_ safe and was coming home. The years of dreading every telegram were finally over. Nights of worrying that Robert was so far beyond his aid were done. "But he's coming home now. Isn't he boy? " He gave Pharaoh a vigorous scratching and banished the negative thoughts. The dog grunted contentedly.

Carson took Pharaoh's face in his hands and held his jowly face up to Mrs. Hughes. "I think Pharaoh would make an excellent children's nurse. What do you say we greet the young ladies at the front door when they come home?" He asked the dog and patted the dog soundly. "Can you think of any creature more loyal than a dog, Mrs. Hughes?"

She smiled down at the proud butler. "No, Mr. Carson. I cannot," she lied.

TBC...

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**A/N The Little White Bird is actually a pretty fun read, if you've time to spare. The main character does remind me of Carson in many respects, but I'll try to mention those in the context of the story.**

**Thank you for the reviews and encouragement. I am glad to hear from those of you who are enjoying it. I am doing a poor job of replying to them, but please know that each one is appreciated. Drop a review down below if you've time. Don't make me beg like a dog;)**


	5. Ch5: Mrs Darling

**Chapter Five: Mrs. Darling**

December was nearing it's end. They had finally received a confirmed date for His Lordship's return. December 22nd had replaced Christmas as the season's main occasion. While some Christmas decorating was done, the staff's true mandate was to prepare Downton Abbey for the return of her master. They were given only nine days notice.

Before this news, Mrs. Hughes had considered Lady Grantham to be a reasonable and even benevolent employer. But the past week had made her start to wonder. The entire house was now subject to Her Ladyship's inspecting eye. Suddenly, perfection was no longer good enough. Mrs. Hughes had absorbed the development with a sympathetic professionalism. She walked the tight line between placating Her Ladyship and protecting her girls.

"The curtains in the music room are dusty, Mrs. Hughes. Please have them seen to."

"Yes, milady." Elsie knew it was pointless to tell Her Ladyship that the curtains had been aired only last week even though the room had been unused in all the time Elsie had been at Downton.

Under the increased workload, Mr. Carson had been forced to suspend his visits to the nursery, handing 'Peter Pan' responsibilities off to Miss Randall, who was not nearly as enthusiastic a reader as the butler had been.

Every morning, before dismissing the staff from breakfast, Mr. Carson gave them the countdown. "Four days until the ship arrives in Southampton. That gives us ten days until the whole family returns. Your extra efforts are noted and appreciated." Then everyone would scatter about the house to perform their various tasks.

"Mrs. Hughes?" Elsie was surprised to see Mrs. Patmore and her scullery maid entering her sitting room.

"How may I help you Mrs. Patmore?" Elsie really did not have much time to spare, but did not see any chance of putting Mrs. Patmore off.

"Go ahead, child. Tell her." Mrs. Patmore prompted. The poor girl looked terrified, she had only been at Downton for a short time and had not ever before spoken to Mrs. Hughes.

"It's Anna, isn't it?" The girl nodded timidly. She could not be more than twelve years old. "What is it child? If Mrs. Patmore believes you should tell me, then you must trust her. If she's brought you here to waste my time, _she_ will answer for it; not you." Mrs. Patmore's face challenged Mrs. Hughes to try and make her answer for anything. But the joke and the housekeeper's smile helped the girl relax.

"It's just that, when I went to light Her Ladyship's fire the past two mornings, all her windows were open. This morning, the room was very cold; very cold, indeed."

"Her windows were open? How could that be?" Mrs. Hughes would need to speak to Miss O'Brien about this. "Thank you, Anna. Thank you, Mrs. Patmore. I shall look into this immediately."

Mrs. Hughes tracked down Miss O'Brien in the boot room. Elsie did not blame the Lady's Maid for hiding from her mistress. "Miss O'Brien? Do you know anything about Her Ladyship's windows?"

Miss O'Brien shrugged noncommittally. "She asked me to open them for her the past few nights. The weather was not too cold two nights ago, so I obliged her. Last night, I refused because it was much colder, but this morning I found she had managed to open them somehow."

"Why would she want her windows open?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Came the curt, Irish reply.

"Thank you, Miss O'Brien." Mrs. Hughes said, meaning quite the opposite. She left the boot room to return to her office. Sitting at her desk, Elsie closed her eyes and resisted the urge to rest her forehead on the desk. She needed to center herself before tackling this new issue with Her Ladyship. Every conversation with Lady Grantham in the past week had resulted in more work for the housekeeper and her staff. She would have to be delicate when addressing the subject of the open windows.

Elsie was still planning her approach when she heard his knock on the door. A little of the stress she'd been feeling lifted as she called out, "Come in, Mr. Carson."

"Do you know my knock or am I the only one brave enough to disturb you?" He inquired with mock seriousness.

"Some would say brave and some would say foolish. And, if only you _were_ the only one. I am thinking of installing a revolving door, like they have in the big London hotels."

"I should think that would be most distracting. But I hope this won't be too much of a disturbance. We leave for London in three days and I just wanted to give you this, before I forgot." He handed her the small, leather bound book. "To read while I am away. I thought you could use a little levity, given the week you've had."

"Thank you, though I doubt I will have much time for reading, Mr. Carson. I have received instructions to air out and deep clean every room in the house before you return in nine days. That's an entire season's worth of work in just over one week's time."

"I suspect there is no need for such action, Mrs. Hughes. I trust that you will have the house in perfect order without overworking the staff or yourself. And you are all to enjoy the usual time off on Christmas. Her Ladyship is understandably anxious for Lord Grantham's homecoming but I think, in this case, her instructions may be considered advisory rather than mandatory."

"Can I get that in writing? It will be my head if she is dissatisfied. Has she ever been like this before?"

"Not that I've seen."

"I am a little worried about her. Apparently, she's been sleeping with her windows open and I am left to determine why."

"Sleeping with her windows open? She'll make herself ill." Why did that sound familiar to him? "I could speak to her, if you like."

"Would you, Mr. Carson? I would be exceedingly obliged."

"But I will have to ask your assistance in return, Mrs. Hughes."

"I should have known there was a catch. What can I do to help, Mr. Carson?"

"The more I consider Her Ladyship's plan to meet Lord Grantham's ship in Southampton, the worse of an idea I believe it to be. She is aware of my opinion on the matter, but she is not planning on heeding my advice. I don't dare raise the subject again. Perhaps you can help me convince Lady Grantham to allow me to meet the boat alone and bring him to the Painswick's in London."

"Miss O'Brien has her ear more than I. You should ask her."

"I wouldn't ask Miss O'Brien to help me bathe the dog, let alone with something this important. You're clever, Mrs. Hughes. All I ask is that you keep an eye out for any opportunity to perhaps remind her of how much work it will be to transport the children so far. Or point out that it is uncertain exactly when the boat will arrive and they will be more comfortable waiting in London, should the boat be delayed."

"I'll do what I can, Mr. Carson. If you believe it will help."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes, I believe it will."

"Perhaps you should ask the Dowager to aid you as well. I am sure she will agree with you and she is quite adept at steering Lady Grantham." _Usually without Her Ladyship's realizing it._

"That is an excellent suggestion, Mrs. Hughes. No one could resist the combined efforts of two such formidable wills." In the servant's hall, the drawing room bell rang. Roger's feet scurried into the kitchen. "Roger," Mr. Carson called after him, "I shall take up the tea today. You need to make sure all of His Lordship's clothes have gotten a proper airing. Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I hope you will find time to enjoy the book."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. I am sure I shall. And thank you for your help with Her Ladyship."

He smiled and went into the kitchen to retrieve the tea service.

Cora was surprised to see Carson serving tea that afternoon. For the past week, the butler had turned everything but dinner service over to Roger, allowing himself time to focus on other duties.

"You must feel very comfortable with your preparations to take time to serve me this afternoon, Carson." Her tone was almost accusatory, but Carson ignored it; raising is chin imperiously as he poured.

"Things are falling into place, My Lady. The staff have worked very hard and I am confident we will be more than prepared for His Lordship's return."

"I know I don't have to tell _you_ how important it is to have everything perfect."

"Indeed, you do not, My Lady." He handed Lady Grantham her tea and returned to stand beside the settee. After a few moments, he cleared his throat.

"Yes, Carson? Have you something to say?"

"There is one matter that has come to my attention that has confounded me, My Lady."

"It is very unlike you, Carson, to be unsure of anything."

"And I am finding it very frustrating. Might I appeal to Your Ladyship for advice?"

"I shall help in any way I can, Carson." She sipped her tea and looked up at the butler curiously.

"I am given to understand that Your Ladyship may be endangering her health by sleeping with the windows open."

Lady Cora frowned down at her cup and saucer. "Someone has been telling tales on me?"

"Someone is looking out for your well being." Afraid of overstepping, Carson waited for her response.

"It's your fault, Carson; yours and Rosamund's" Lady Grantham finally scolded him.

"My Lady?"

"It's that fool play. It's put such silly thoughts in my head."

"I was not aware that you knew anything of the play, My Lady."

"Do you think I didn't notice when the dog was wearing a maid's cap? When you abandoned the story, the girls appealed to me to continue it. According to Lady Sybil, Miss Randall does not 'do the voices'. We finished the play the other evening. You know how it ends, don't you?"

"Yes, of course, but what has that to do with keeping the windows open?" But then he remembered. "Oh. I see."

"Yes, I feel ridiculous, Carson. But the image of that mother, sitting in the nursery, night after night, waiting for her children to come flying home…"

"It is a poignant image, My Lady. And if it were warmer out, I would not discourage you from keeping the windows open if it comforted you. But, for your health, I must beg you to reconsider."

"Not to worry, Carson, I shall leave the windows shuttered tonight. I give you my word."

"Thank you, My Lady. And you've nothing to worry about. I believe His Lordship will be more than satisfied using the front door."

Lady Grantham's grateful smile was matched by that of the housekeeper listening at the drawing room door.

TBC...

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**A/N The story will be taking a slightly more serious turn now, as Robert comes home from Africa, but we'll still have some fun with Carson and the girls and Elsie. Thank you for the reviews, I was not able to respond personally to the reviews from last chapter, as I am trying to update daily, but I will try to do so for this one. **


	6. Ch6: The Lost Boys

**Chapter Six: The Lost Boys**

As payment for Mr. Carson's help in settling the window situation, Mrs. Hughes waged a steady and stealthy attack of logic upon Lady Grantham. For the last days before the family's departure for London, Mrs. Hughes made sure to point out on every presented occasion the logistical nightmare of transporting the children beyond London. She artfully sprinkled their interactions with innocuous comments such as, "I went to Southampton once, My Lady. It took almost as long to get there from London as it had taken to reach London from Glasgow, but I am sure it's much better now."

Or, "I hope Lady Rosamund will be there to help you watch the young Ladies and keep them from seeing something they ought not. The people at the docks can be quite colorful."

Or, "I am sure Miss Randall will be such a help with the young ladies. I remember them running almost wild under Fraulein Kelda."

Cora's defenses were weakening with every moment. The girls, though sweet, did have a tendency to try one's patience when they traveled. They had almost lost Lady Sybil in King's Cross when she stopped to chat with a beggar.

With Mrs. Hughes fulfilling her role in the campaign, Carson strategically recruited a crucial ally two days before the family left for London. Carson was showing the Dowager Countess to her carriage after her afternoon visit.

"I understand you will be joining us in London for Christmas, My Lady."

"Yes, Carson. I did not feel the need to overwhelm Lord Grantham with a welcoming committee." Violet was desperate to see her son, but knew his nature well enough to give him space. "We don't want to drive him back to Africa."

"Very wise, My Lady. And Southampton can be so cold this time of year."

Lady Violet stopped and turned to Carson rather than enter the carriage. "Southampton?"

"Yes, Lady Grantham and the young ladies will be meeting him there; at the docks." Carson counted silently to three as the information sunk in.

"Are you certain, Carson? She said Southampton? I understood they were going to Lady Rosamund's in London."

"And then on to Southampton, My Lady. I am sorry, I believed that you knew."

"I most certainly did not." Carson suppressed a smile as he saw her consternation and as he watched the gears begin to turn in her head.

"It is a good thing you were not planning to accompany them, My Lady. The logistics of the trip are already daunting enough with just the four of them." Carson offered innocently.

He saw the spark of inspiration in her eyes and the sly curl of her mouth's corner. "Yes, Carson. I am sure you are right." Finally, she climbed into the carriage, still grinning. Carson closed the door and signaled the driver. Only then did he allow himself a triumphant smile.

That evening, the Dowager Countess hit Cora with a commando attack by sending a note announcing her intention to join the family reunion in Southampton. She proceeded to complicate the trip further by demanding they stay overnight in a local hotel. And so it was that Lady Grantham was outflanked and overrun before she even knew there was a battle being waged.

Cora thought she still might accompany Carson to Southampton, but the girls would not be left behind. In the end it was decided that Carson would meet His Lordship in Southampton; alone. The family would wait impatiently in London.

On the morning of the twenty-first, Elsie stood by the loaded carts as they were sent off to the station. He exited the house through the front door, wearing his heavy coat and his always pristine bowler hat. Mrs. Patmore swore that hat was over ten years old, but it looked as though he had bought it only yesterday. Pulling on his gloves, Mr. Carson bid his housekeeper goodbye. "We're off then, Mrs. Hughes. Thank you, again, for your hand in convincing Her Ladyship to wait with the girls in London."

"I am glad to have helped, Mr. Carson, but I feel the Dowager made the real difference."

"And it was you who suggested recruiting her to the cause, even though you didn't agree with me."

"I trust you to know His Lordship better than I. I hope you do not find him terribly altered."

"I am sure I shall find all my precautions were unnecessary. But I do not like to leave such things to chance, Mrs. Hughes." _Not where the girls are concerned._

"So you are to be in London over Christmas?" She hid her disappointment behind a smile. This was her first Christmas as housekeeper and she had hoped to share it with her butler.

"At least the household will be spared that extra work. The wine for the staff's Christmas dinner is in my pantry. I trust you will not let them celebrate too much."

"It will be a dignified and solemn holiday, Mr. Carson."

"Well, there's no need to go too far, Mrs. Hughes. With all their hard work, they deserve a chance to unwind. The staff should enjoy the holiday. There will be plenty of work to be done when we return from London."

"You will write if your return plans change?"

"I shall write to confirm our plans regardless. We should be back before the new year, at the least." The last wagon was leaving now. The family's carriage would be pulling up soon. Mr. Carson swung easily up to sit beside the wagoner and tipped his hat to her. "Have a Happy Christmas, Mrs. Hughes. Do take some time for yourself and put your feet up with a glass of wine in the evenings. You deserve it. Maybe Mrs. Patmore would join you?"

"That might be asking too much of the holiday spirit." She laughed. "Travel well, Mr. Carson and try to enjoy a bit of London if you get the chance." She waved him off as the cart rolled away. She watched the cart a little longer than was strictly proper, but she had been struck by the contrast of his strong, rigid posture sitting beside the slumped figure of the wagoner.

The next day, Charles Carson watched the large ropes drawn up to the boat as it tied up to the Southampton dock. Ranks of enlisted men lined the railings, searching the sparsely populated dock for a familiar face. This was not a boat bringing back a full regiment, but one of the final boats, carrying a hodgepodge of left behinds and wounded soldiers. There was to be no pomp or bands or speeches accompanying this arrival.

Carson was relieved to see that there were not many families waiting ashore for returning loved ones. Certainly, judging by the unkempt state of the few children present, there were no officers' families. Lord Grantham would not feel slighted by the absence of his family. He might even be flattered, as Carson seemed to be the only valet amongst those waiting to greet the returned soldiers.

After the initial rush of anxious young husbands and fathers, a steady parade of soldiers marched ashore. Among them were the walking wounded; their limps barely discernible. But then came the stretchers bearing the more seriously wounded. At least ten stretchers passed by, carrying broken young men who had given their youth to an ultimately unpopular war. Carson was intensely glad that the young ladies were not there to see these poor men or to consider the countless others who would not be returning to their mothers. Even Carson's pragmatic heart was moved by the misery before him. He knew Lady Sybil's tender heart would have been broken by the sight.

The flow of soldiers from the boat had slowed to a trickle when Captain Robert Crawley finally stood at the top of the gangplank. He sighed with resignation when he saw Carson waiting for him. Though he was glad that the girls were not there, Robert did not think he could stomach Carson's company today. There had been little to do on the voyage home but reread the letters from his family. By the end of the second week, Robert had been perturbed at the constant mention of Carson in these letters. He knew his family was only trying to assure him that they were well looked after, but, now that the war was over, he did not find the words as comforting. By the third week, Robert was harboring jealous and rather unkind thoughts towards his butler. Rationally, Lord Grantham knew this was a ridiculous reaction, but his consternation had grown rather than lessened as they had approached England.

From where Carson stood, it was difficult to say whether Robert was more green or yellow. He looked drawn and gaunt. Once again, Carson was glad that the young ladies had not come to welcome their father home. Lady Grantham would have been strong enough to see him like this, but the children would not have understood.

Carson had known Robert since he was a young boy. He had hoped that the pressures of war might bring out something as yet untapped in the young man. He knew that some men found inspiration and purpose through enduring the horrible conditions of war, but Lord Grantham looked more lost than found. _But at least he is alive,_ Carson reminded himself. _And now, he is home. It will just be a matter of transitioning._ And Carson was determined to help him with that. Carson greeted Lord Grantham at the bottom of the gangplank. "Welcome home, My Lord."

"Thank you, Carson." Came the automatic answer, but his eyes showed no hint of recognition. _How do you greet the man who has made you redundant?_ Lord Grantham mused darkly.

"Lady Grantham and the young ladies are all awaiting you anxiously in London. They are at Painswick Place with the Dowager Countess and Lady Rosamund. If we hurry, you've time for a hot bath and a proper shave before the train leaves." He tried not to look too judgmentally at the shabby stubble on His Lordship's face. He had obviously tried to groom himself, but had not achieved the desired effect. "If you'll follow me to the hotel, My Lord."

"A _hot_ bath _and_ a shave?" A spark of life seemed to be struck in Robert.

"But we must hurry. Lady Grantham will sack me if I make you miss the train. They are so very excited to see you, My Lord. It was all the Dowager could do to keep them all from coming to Southampton." The spark was fanned and grew to a small flame.

"Then lead on, Carson. I should not wish to put your job in jeopardy." Robert smiled gratefully at Carson. Lord Grantham had finally remembered something that he had forgotten in his long journey home. Carson was not just at Downton to look after the Crawley women; he was there to look after Robert Crawley as well. It felt very good to be looked after again.

Lord Grantham could not help splashing about in the tub a bit. The hot water felt so soothing, he kept dipping his head under the surface and shook his head vigorously as he tried to scrub the film of a five week journey off him. There had been water with which to wash on board, of course, but it had always been salt water. He had even shaved with saltwater though his shaving cream had refused to lather. Robert's hair had taken on a coarseness and he could never feel fully clean. But now, he felt cleansed; body and soul. Robert's irrational resentment towards Carson dissolved as easily as the salt he washed from his skin.

During a lull in the splashing, Carson called into the bathroom, "Do you still wish to wear your uniform, My Lord? I've brought you a change of civilian clothes, but I think the girls would be very proud to see you in uniform."

"If you can make it presentable, Carson. I'm afraid that I've had no one to care for it properly since my batman returned to England four months ago."

"I welcome the challenge, My Lord." Carson watched the clock closely, allowing Lord Grantham every possible moment in the hot bath. Robert shaved himself while in the tub, using the shaving kit Carson had brought from Downton and tons of lather. His own kit was packed away in the luggage that Carson had already directed to the station.

Freed from having to shave His Lordship, Carson had time to run down to the hotel's laundry to press the wrinkles from the pants and dab away the stains of brine and tar on the coat of His Lordship's uniform. There was not time enough to polish the buttons properly, but Carson made quick work of the small tear on the left elbow, which Robert had not noticed.

Returning to the room with the revitalized khakis, Carson called to His Lordship, "We should leave in just over ten minutes, My Lord." Carson gave them an extra ten minutes, but knew His Lordship would delay if he knew they had more time. Reluctantly, Robert rose from the tub and toweled himself off. He slipped quickly into the fresh undergarments Carson had laid out for him.

Shortly, he was sharply dressed and looked a new man. Before exiting the room, Lord Grantham appraised himself in the full length mirror. "What do you think, Carson? Do I pass muster?"

The butler nodded his approval. "Aye, My Lord."

"Shall we to London, then? I am very anxious to see my girls."

TBC...

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**A/N Posting a second chapter today because it's ready and, judging by the views and reviews, the previous chapter has reached saturation.  
**

**FYI, some of the play tie ins will be less on the nose than in previous chapters and more general, like this one.  
**

**Thank you, as always for the reviews, it is rather pathetic how much they mean to me;) **


	7. Ch7: The Darling Children

**A/N LONG VERSION:The clock on my computer got screwed up, so I was posting in the future. When I fixed it, the last chapter updated funny, so you may have missed it if you are not receiving story alerts. The problem is fixed now, so it should not happen again. ****If you have not read Chapter 6: The Lost Boys yet, I suggest you go back a page and do so.**

**SHORT VERSION: Did you read Ch6? If not, you should.  
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**Chapter 7: The Darling Children**

"That must be his cab!"

"Honestly, Sybil, what makes you think this cab is any different from the five dozen you have already pointed out?" Edith asked, exasperated. It had been a very long morning for the Crawley family.

"But this one is slowing down in front of the house!"

"They all slow down here, we are on a corner." Mary pointed out. "Please come away from the window, Sybil dear, or I may be forced to gag you and tie you to a chair." Her voice dripped with false sweetness.

A defeated Sybil slunk away from the window as the cab continued past the house. Two seconds later, she ran back to the window as she heard hooves on the street. "But maybe _this_ is them!"

Edith buried her head under the nearest cushion and moaned. "Please, Mama. Make her stop!"

But Cora could not help her. In truth, her state of mind was hardly any less agitated than Sybil's. Her nerves were shot and the only way she had been able to endure this never ending day was to ignore her children altogether. After luncheon, Lady Violet had not lasted five minutes in the room before retreating to her rooms upstairs. "Please send for me when he arrives."

Rosamund was playing solitaire in the corner while Mr. Painswick watched. She called Sybil over to help her. Occasionally, she would look up at the clock. She knew exactly when Robert would arrive, knowing the train arrival time and knowing to the second how long it took to get to her front door from the station.

At a quarter after two, Rosamund said to Sybil. "Let's check the cabs again, my dear."

Edith moaned again and Mary kicked her. Edith kicked her back. Soon, they were shoving each other and they would have resorted to hair pulling next if Sybil hadn't started jumping up and down, shouting, "I see them. That's Carson in the front for sure! It has to be Papa!"

"I believe you are correct." Rosamund confirmed. Cora felt herself go faint, but recovered as her youngest daughter threw herself into her mother's arms for a brief hug before dancing away.

"He's home! He's home!" She crowed, skipping about the middle of the room.

Edith ran to the window to see for herself. She skipped back and threw her arms around Mary. "It's true!"

Mary tried to remain dignified, but she allowed Edith to hug her and she might even have skipped a step or two as she was pulled into a dance with her two sisters. Mere moments later, they all froze mid dance when they heard the front door close. Heavy footsteps climbed the short flight of steps as they held their collective breath.

The Painswick's 'Carson', as the girls called him, opened the door and announced, "Lord Grantham."

"Papa!" Three voices cried. Before he was two steps into the room, Robert found himself embraced by three pairs of loving arms. For a moment, he was overwhelmed. He patted each of their heads in turn and then looked up at his wife who smiled at him with tear filled eyes; eyes he had dreamed about for two years. Having recovered somewhat, Robert scooped up Sybil in one arm and Edith in the other. He leaned down to kiss Mary on her cheek, saying, "My darling girl." He repeated the action for Edith and Sybil, each time saying, "My darling girl."

Robert carried his two youngest over to the lounge where their mother sat, Mary walked right beside him, her hands on his arm as though he might float away. Setting the girls down, he sat beside his wife and gathered her in his arms. "My darling girl," he breathed into her ear.

Rosamund and Marmaduke snuck out of the room unnoticed, leaving the woven knot of human happiness that was the Crawley family with some privacy. They needn't have bothered to sneak; they could have tap danced out of the room and gone unnoticed. An hour later, Cora rang the bell and asked for Lady Rosamund and Lady Violet to be brought in. Rosamund did not mind being summoned in her own house. Shortly, she ordered the tea brought in. Now the family reunion was complete as Lord Grantham's sister and mother welcomed him home, though with much fewer tears and embraces than his wife and children had done.

Squeezed between Sybil and Mary, Lady Violet patted Robert's hand in an uncharacteristic gesture of affection. "Welcome home, my darling boy."

TBC...

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**A/N I thought this moment warranted its own chapter, even though it is brief. There should be another chapter later today.**


	8. Ch8: The Mermaids

**Chapter 8: The Mermaids**

While initially enjoying the attentions of his family, Robert quickly grew weary of the noise. He was surrounded by chattering women, aged six to sixty, though to be fair, _Mama dosen't chatter so much as pronounce._

He had spent too long in the quiet company of men. There had been some raucous nights of cards and drinking, but, for the most part, Robert and his fellow officers took their responsibilities to their men very seriously. They were somber men making serious decisions.

Lord Grantham did not miss the smells of gunpowder and leather, but the hot house flowers and French perfumes of London assaulted his senses and made his head ache. He thought a return to Downton would calm his nerves. He longed to walk through his sleeping garden surrounded by the smells of earth and approaching snow. With a bit of quiet to retreat to, he thought he could better handle the girl's exuberance and constant attention.

Of course, Robert was glad to see Cora and had wasted no time in showing her how much he had missed her. Without the slightest hint of embarrassment, Lord Grantham had dismissed Carson from his valet duties on his first night back, as he had often done when he and Cora were newly married. But even the long awaited feel of his wife's body felt foreign in this strange bed that was not theirs.

Lord Grantham expressed his wish to leave London and return to Downton as soon as possible to Cora his first morning at Painswick Place.

"But we must stay through the 27th. Rosamund has promised the girls a treat. If her stories are to be believed, she has cajoled, threatened or bribed half of London to secure a box for opening night." Cora reminded him. "I know you want to be home, but this is so important to Rosamund and to the girls. We'll be home on Sunday. The house isn't going anywhere." She didn't understand that England wasn't home and London wasn't home; Downton was Home. Robert didn't want to hurt her feelings by insinuating that being with his family wasn't enough of a home coming, so he accepted his fate and began counting the days until the 28th.

The girls continued to be an absolute mystery to Robert. They'd sent him pictures and written him letters, but he was not prepared for the differences he found. Though only ten, Lady Mary was almost as tall as her mother and carried herself with a haughty pride that reminded him of Rosamund. Lady Edith had also shot up in height, but what he noticed most was her keen looks and quick wit. _Though she'll never be as pretty as her mother or her sisters_, Robert thought sadly. Left to themselves, Edith and Mary would tear each other apart with razor sharp words or claws. This was a new development. He remembered two sweet girls playing at dolls together or, better yet, dressing their baby sister in the nurse maid's clothes.

Even his baby girl was a young lady now; sitting properly at the meals she was allowed to attend and waiting her turn to speak in the drawing room before dinner. He was comforted to see that it did not come naturally to her yet. On his second evening back, she had practically bounced off her chair waiting to join the conversation. She looked fit to burst by the time she was finally given the floor. Lady Violet had turned to the fidgeting girl and asked, "Have you something to add, young lady?"

"Yes!" She had practically screamed. The rest tumbled out in an almost indecipherable jumble. "Yes! I just wanted to say…that I agreed with Mama, about Mary's new dress. The pattern looked different in the store and then when we went to pick it up, the color was wrong. They switched the fabrics and then we saw Gemma Richards at the ball in Thirsk and she was wearing the dress that Mary had ordered, in the fabric we had paid for, but the dress Mary ended up with was much nicer. Though Gemma looked very well also."

Rosamund had laughed at this. "Oh, child, you must learn to breathe when you gossip. And you must learn to be more critical of others, or no one will ever find what you say interesting. Cora, whatever are you teaching these children?"

"Don't tell her such things, Rosamund." Cora had scolded, not entirely sure if Rosamund was joking or not. Why did people without children always enjoy trying to corrupt other people's children? "Thank you, dear, for agreeing with me and I am proud that you found something kind to say about poor Gemma. Her family isn't doing very well, just now. I hear the father has lost a great deal of money on horses. I did not even know he liked the horses."

"Haven't you met his wife?" Violet chimed in. Edith clapped with delight at this bon mot.

"Mama!" Cora looked at Robert for help, but he was not paying attention any longer. He sat by the fire, next to Rosamund's husband. At least fifteen years Rosamund's senior, Marmaduke Painswick was hands down the dullest man Cora had ever known. She supposed he must have some hidden qualities, because Rosamund truly did love him, which baffled her family no end.

He was certainly a brilliant banker, and he was definitely filthy rich, but neither of these traits made him fascinating. Cora had been raised to believe that money could make a person infinitely more interesting. In her opinion, there was not enough money in England to redeem Marmaduke. This was perhaps the only thing on which Cora and Violet agreed one hundred percent.

Robert was watching the door, as if willing dinner to be called. Then he eyed the window, absently wondering exactly how far above the street they were. Before he could try his daring escape, dinner was announced and a new torture began.

Painswick Place had not seen such an active Christmas in years. Rosamund and Marmaduke usually headed to Yorkshire to spend the holiday with the family at Downton. Rosamund was proud and happy to play hostess this year. The downstairs staff were less enthusiastic, but were glad to hear they would have their luncheon off to celebrate. Many of the staff had family in London, so it was sure to be a small and subdued gathering downstairs.

Carson was missing Downton more than usual. When in London for the season, Grantham House was a home away from home. Painwick Place was just away from home. It did not help that Carson was having difficulty adjusting to being called Mr. Grantham. When he had been Robert's valet, he had been called Mr. Crawley. When he was the 4th Earl's valet, they did not travel anywhere. For this reason, he failed to answer the first few times Anders had addressed him. Now, the entire staff at Painswick Place was convinced that Mr. Grantham was hard of hearing or slow or both. Everyone insisted on speaking to him in a loud, pedantic manor that would have tried the patience of Job.

It did not help matters that there was very little for him to do. Each morning, he dressed His Lordship, saw that the previous day's clothes were gathered from Her Ladyship's room and laundered and then laid out the dinner clothes. After this Carson had relatively little to do but wait for the dressing gong, which was always accompanied by Mr. Anders yelling helpfully, "THE DRESSING GONG HAS SOUNDED MR. GRANTHAM!"

For perhaps the first time in his life, Mr. Carson was bored. God, he was so bored. The only servants he knew at Painswick Place were Miss O'Brien and Miss Randall and he was hard pressed to name which one made him more uncomfortable. On Christmas Eve, Carson had suggested to His Lordship that perhaps Roger could come and play valet while Carson returned to Downton to ready the house for his return.

"There really is so much work to do, My Lord. I would be of more use at Downton, though London is so exciting this time of year." Carson tried to sound as though he would be making a sacrifice to leave London behind, but master and servant were too much alike for Lord Grantham to be fooled.

"Nice try, Carson. But, if I am stuck in this awful place rather than spending Christmas in my own beloved home, I must insist that you stay as well. I don't even know this Roger fellow."

"He had been promoted to second footman just before you left."

"Oh, the oily one?"

"That would be him." Carson confirmed, resigning himself to four more days in London. "I hope at least the young ladies will enjoy the play."

"What is so special about this play, Carson. Rosamund had to move heaven and earth for a box."

"I can't explain why it's so popular before it's even opened, My Lord, but, having read it, it certainly should be a unique theatrical experience."

"What is it called… 'The Boy Who Refused to Grow Any Bigger'?" Carson laughed dutifully. Though not a very good joke, it was, at least a joke, which gave Carson hope.

"Peter Pan: The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up."

"And how does he accomplish that?"

"According to the author's earlier work, Peter flew out of his nursery window when he was a boy to spend a night playing with the fairies in Kensington Park. He decided to stay."

"So is he a fairy?"

"Again, according to the author, he is not a human or a fairy. I believe he says Peter is 'Betwixt and Between'."

"Betwixt and Between? That's exactly how I feel, Carson."

"That's to be expected, My Lord. Especially until you are truly home at Downton."

"I used to enjoy London."

"And you will again, My Lord. But not yet. And maybe not for some time."

"Thank you, Carson. I am truly sorry to keep you from Downton at Christmas, but…" _Having you here is like having a bit of Downton in London._ "Well, I'm just grateful that you are here."

"Will there be anything else, My Lord?"

"No. That is, yes. I have not had time to do any shopping and, while I know no one is expecting anything from me, I'd like to surprise Lady Grantham at the least. I've been told everything she's bought for the girls and they don't need anything more. But, I should like to have something nice for Lady Grantham." Robert removed his wallet from the dressing table.

"You did such a fine job with all the birthday presents while I was away, perhaps you could help me one more time?"

"Certainly, My Lord. Had you something particular in mind?"

"I'd like to get her jewelry, but she prefers to choose her own, so that will have to wait. I can hardly surprise her with something she's picked out. What would you recommend?"

"I've often observed that a woman can never have too many hats, shoes or gloves."

Robert almost laughed aloud to think of Carson trying to choose a hat for Cora. He pictured the somber and imposing Carson in the milliner's shop with a helpful attendant trying each one on and strutting around for him. Or, better yet, placing each hat on Carson's head and turning him to look into the mirror "Oh, that one is lovely with your complexion, sir"

"Gloves, I think, Carson. Some long, silk gloves, I think." Lord Grantham handed him a ten pound note and, as an afterthought, handed him one more. "That last ten is for you, Carson. Do what you like with it. Buy yourself a new hat or some new gloves as a Christmas gift from me or whatever you like. I know nothing will repay everything I owe you for how you've cared for my family; not just in these past two years. You do so much that cannot possibly fall under the duties of a butler, and I want you to know that Lady Grantham, the girls and I appreciate it."

"Thank you, My Lord."

"And take the whole day to shop. We are not changing for dinner tonight. Mama will not be pleased, but it is Christmas Eve." Robert reasoned. "Just leave Her Ladyship's gift in my dressing room during dinner."

"Yes, My Lord. Good day, My Lord."

A very unhappy Charles Carson shrugged into his coat and grabbed his hat before ascending from the servant's level to street level. He had been sentenced to an afternoon of shopping, in London, on Christmas Eve. Then a happy thought hit him. Perhaps he would buy something for Mrs. Hughes! Buoyed by the new mission, Carson squared his shoulders and set off briskly towards Knightsbridge. _Might as well go into the belly of the beast. _He knew at least he could find something at Harrods if he did not find something in one of the little shops he would pass on his way there.

TBC...

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**A/N Thanks for sticking with me through the time warp;) As always, comments and reviews are more precious than gold to me, but I have a specific question this time. What should he buy Mrs. Hughes? I have an idea, but I'd like to know your ideas. He doesn't have to buy the first thing he sees, after all...or maybe he should go try on those hats;)**


	9. Ch9: Tiger Lily

**A/N Some of you may have missed the last few chapters due to posting weirdness. Make sure you're up to speed, or this one won't make much sense.**

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**Chapter Nine: Tiger Lily**

Elsie Hughes' Christmas Eve began with a pleasant surprise; a Christmas card from London.

Breakfast was ending when the morning post arrived. Mr. Carson had left a list of bills he was expecting and had authorized her to open anything addressed directly to Downton Abbey. She set aside the two envelopes that were obviously bills and eagerly opened the larger envelope postmarked December 23rd and addressed to "All and Sundry at Downton Abbey." She would not have thought Mr. Carson would use such a phrase, but the handwriting was clearly his. The envelope contained two items, the first of which was a colorful Christmas card featuring a family gathered around a table on which sat an enormous Christmas pudding.

"Mr. Carson wishes us all a Happy Christmas," Mrs. Hughes announced as breakfast came to a close. She read further, steadfastly trying to ignore the second item which still remained in the envelope and which she had only briefly glanced. "And, it is confirmed; the family will be arriving on Sunday, as planned. Mr. Carson will remain with them in the city until then."

"Father Christmas must have gotten my letter!" Roger joked from his spot midway down the table. "A Christmas without Mr. Carson!" Elsie was still pondering whether or not to reprimand him when her debate was made moot. Almost as one, Roger was set straight by Mr. Carson's loyal staff.

"Why would you say that?" Geoffrey demanded. "I like Mr. Carson best at Christmas."

"He lets us have wine with lunch." Christopher, the eldest hall boy, reminded him.

"And sometimes he sings carols with us after the family are done with their dinner." said Laurel, the kitchen maid.

"And you only like when he is away so you can be lazy and make us do your work for you." Geoffrey added for good measure.

But Roger would not be shouted down. "But he's a Scrooge. Even Bob Cratchet has it better than us on Christmas."

"You ungrateful whelp!" Mrs. Patmore said, boxing Roger's ear as she stood over him.

"Thank you, Mrs. Patmore. I could not have said it better myself." Mrs. Hughes drew the attention of all to herself at the head of the table, where she sat in Mr. Carson's customary chair. "Now, it's time we got to work. You all know your business and, if we accomplish everything on the list, I am authorized by Mr. Scrooge himself to give you an additional half day on Friday morning." She waved the card at them as her proof.

A general happy murmur greeted this announcement. Roger grumbled something and was promptly pelted with an half eaten corner of toast.

Elsie had to admit. She had been apprehensive about running the house without Mr. Carson there. The last time the family had gone to London was a normal trip for the Season. And back then, Mrs. Pearson was still Housekeeper and Mrs. Cobb was still cook. Elsie wondered if she would be able to keep everyone in line, especially with the holiday excitement. But the staff were carefully chosen and well trained. Roger was the only trouble maker, but Geoffrey was standing up to him. Mrs. Hughes had made it clear on the first day that she had his back and that she would be making a full report to Mr. Carson regarding his two footmen.

Finally, her exterior not betraying her inner excitement, Mrs. Hughes took the morning's correspondence to her office. She had posted the communal Christmas card in the servant's hall, beside the eerily silent bells. They almost looked like Christmas decorations as they hung there, undisturbed.

Now, she had only the large envelope and its remaining contents. Reaching in, she extracted a small envelope addressed to 'Miss Elsie Hughes; Housekeeper's Sitting Room; Downton Abbey, Yorkshire.' She smiled at the use of her full name and Miss rather than Mrs. From anyone else, this mix up would be a sign of disrespect. But she knew it was his way of telling her that, even though she was now housekeeper, she still had a friend below stairs.

Too anxious to use a letter knife, Elsie tore the envelope roughly with her fingernail. She was a little disappointed with the beginning of his letter. It was all about Lord Grantham. Overall, his assessment of Lord Grantham was optimistic, and there was relief in some of his words. He offered several suggestions that would make the homecoming better. _'He's had his fill of seafood for a while. Please tell Mrs. Patmore to stick to the less fishy fishes and avoid any kind of fish stew for the foreseeable future_.' She read. _Blah, blah, blah…_

They were obviously things that he did not wish the other staff to see, but they were not of a very personal nature, as she had foolishly hoped. But then she turned over the first sheet and the tone of the letter changed. It became more conversational. By the end of the letter she was smiling broadly.

"Good news from home?" Mrs. Patmore asked, entering the sitting room without knocking.

"You might say that." Elsie answered, enigmatically.

"Well, you can read it all you like later. My schedule says we're supposed to go through the stores and make sure we're set for Sunday."

"You are correct, Mrs. Patmore." Elsie beamed at the perplexed cook. "I _can_ read my letter all I like later." And she definitely would.

-00-

_It should not be this difficult to buy a present._ Carson mused as he watched the lamplighter struggle to steady his flame enough to light a streetlamp before the tide of people swept him away. How had it gotten so late?

Mr. Carson was beginning to feel desperate. He'd thought to gain an advantage over the crowd by skipping lunch AND tea, but there had been no lull in the madness corresponding with these traditional breaks. If people were stopping for food, there were plenty of people to take their place. If anything, the crowds grew as the day progressed. At every intersection, strangers grabbed at each other for fear of falling into the street to be trampled under the hooves of an indifferent cab horse. The pickpockets would be having a field day, Carson thought. His own wallet was in a buttoned pocket on his right side. Carson knew pickpockets always assumed men were right handed and would target the left lapel.

The day had thus far been fruitless. The only thing he had accomplished was to accumulate a sample of every scent for sale in London. He would have to air his coat for weeks to get the various perfumes out of it. Every store into which he had gone was guarded by a girl with an atomizer, like a troll under a bridge in a fairytale.

And he'd been in every store from Earl's Court to Knightsbridge to Piccadilly Circus to beyond and back. He had lost all sense of smell in a shop on Bond Street with a particularly aggressive perfume troll with a tray of scents in front of her. She had sprayed all five in rapid succession, creating a cloud of Lavender, Musk, Verbena, Rose Water and a strong chemical smell Carson could not identify. He had staggered out of that shop with his eyes watering.

That had been hours ago, but his eyes still stung. Carson realized that his hunger was definitely adding to his foul mood. This would not do. Some of his sense of smell must have returned, for Carson turned off Piccadilly proper and followed his nose to a gathering of food carts. Quickly, Carson's stomach decided he needed a jacket potato and beans. Mrs. Patmore would have a fit if she knew how he ate when in London. He loved the colorful vendors with their assortment of food and beverages, from jellied eel to buttered rum.

As he devoured his supper quickly, Carson evaluated the situation. He'd looked at scarves, frames, chocolates, brooches, pens and, in an act of desperation, hats. He shuddered to remember one hat that had reminded him of a red Indian headdress, all feathers and beads.

Behind him he had left a wake of frustrated and often angry shop girls. Everywhere, he ran into the same problem. Almost nothing was good enough for her and the things that were almost acceptable were far too fine for a gift between colleagues.

He had almost made a purchase at the fourth store, or was it the fifth? It was a colorful, but tasteful French silk scarf. But the poor girl behind the counter had made the mistake of complimenting his taste. "Your wife is very lucky. This is one of our finer items. Most men don't understand the sensuality of silk and how it makes a woman feel." Carson had not considered that Mrs. Hughes would misinterpret his gift of a scarf. He could not give her a gift that could be described as sensual. He had certainly not been thinking of declaring anything, he had only known that this particular scarf would look stunning with her favorite coat and her complexion. A flustered Carson had exited the store very quickly.

Carson had known better than to even approach a bookseller. Everything he had read in the last year reminded him of her somehow. He'd likely resurface sometime after the New Year if he went down that rabbit hole.

He realized with terror that he had not even looked at gloves yet. How could he have so terribly neglected his true mandate? Well, Harrods was The Place for gloves. Carson could put it off no longer. He would need to go to the epicenter of London Christmas shopping.

He had less than three hours to secure some gloves for Lady Grantham. If he happened on anything for Mrs. Hughes, he would buy it. Otherwise, he would have to try again after Christmas.

Harrods was worse than he had expected. There was a line to even get in the door. Doormen counted the people leaving and then admitted that same number of new shoppers. It took Carson an hour to gain entrance. Luckily, a few enterprising vendors were selling hot beverages to the waiting crowd. Carson had two drafts of a particularly fine mulled wine. His cheeks were warm and rosy by the time he found himself in the women's accessories. The glove counter was a tragic mess. Here, again, Carson would have to wait. A floorwalker took his name and told him it would be a twenty minute wait. He thanked her and headed towards open space.

Looking around, Carson found himself looking down at cases full of watches and brooches. Well, he thought, he might as well shop for Mrs. Hughes while he waited for the glove counter to clear. He hadn't considered a watch. She had very little need of one. There was a clock, sometimes several, in every room in Downton. Indeed, Carson began to wonder why he himself carried a watch. He used it constantly, consulting it almost hourly; double checking the house's clocks or while waiting for a wine shipment. The truth was, the time on his watch was the only time Carson truly trusted.

Thinking she might actually like a watch, Carson began scanning the display cases. Though this area was less crowded than the other areas of women's accessories, it was still crowded. Luckily, Carson could see over most of the other patrons. The delicate lapel watches reminded him of nurses, not of his housekeeper.

Giving up on the notion of a watch, Carson wandered through the brooches. He liked the idea of finding something she could wear daily. Her mother's brooch was too precious and delicate for everyday. Ever since she'd almost lost it on the lawn she had been wearing one of two brooches, neither of which were as delicate or lovely as her favorite. His ears reddened to match his cheeks as he remembered that moment on the lawn. He had come so close to crossing a line that evening. Would a gift of a brooch make her think of that night too? Was that going too far; being too familiar? He saw a brooch not unlike hers, but lacking a stone. He leaned in to get a better look.

"Excellent choice, sir." Carson started as a dark-haired girl leaned in from the opposite side of the counter. "That is one of our most popular items. Are you familiar with the luckenbooth?"

"Is that what it is called? I've seen them before, but I didn't know they had a name besides brooch."

"As you can see, it's entwined hearts with a crown at the top. We've variations with thistles, if you like or stones." Now that he looked closely, he realized that there was a crown and that the delicate silver curves were not random, but were, indeed interlocked hearts. That seemed a little personal, but it was really lovely. He was on the fence when the shop girl continued her speech about the luckenbooth. "The luckenbooth is a traditional Scottish charm and is often given by men to their intended or betrothed."

Charles fell off the fence. Disappointed yet again, he scanned the case for something just as beautiful, but less fraught with meaning. And then, he saw it; tucked away in an almost unlit corner of the next display case. "There!" He cried out.

The shop girl only faltered for a second before heading to that display. "This one?" She pointed to an intricate silver hair comb.

"No, _that_ one." He pointed to the shining silver item.

"This?" She asked with trepidation, finally identifying the correct thing.

He nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. It's perfect. May I see it?"

With a perplexed expression, the shop girl handed it to him. He held it up and watched the light gleaming off the silver.

"Perfect." He repeated. Just then, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Mr. Carson?" The floorwalker addressed him. "You are next on the list."

Carson turned back to the attendant. "If you could wrap that up, I'll be back to pick it up and pay when I am done at the glove counter."

"Are you absolutely sure, Mr. Carson? Wouldn't you rather…" A scowl from the floorwalker stopped her words in her throat. "That is, would you rather printed paper or solid?"

"Best stick with solid, unless you have plaid?"

"No, but we've plaid ribbon. I can make you a bow."

"Thank you, that would be lovely." Charles smiled kindly to the girl and headed off to the glove department.

"What do you mean trying to talk a customer out of a sale?" Hissed the floorwalker to the flummoxed girl.

"But look at what he's buying." She held up the silver item. "He was so close to buying a luckenbooth and then he buys _this_. I don't understand."

"When you have money burning a hole in your pocket, see what silliness you buy. It's not our place to question. Just sell them what they want and move on to the next person."

Carson had now reached the anarchy that was the women's glove counter. A weary looking girl with flushed cheeks handed a wrapped box to a tall, stately woman and sighed, "Next."

Noticing she was frazzled, and hoping to cheer her up, Carson asked, in his deep baritone, "Do you have anything in my size?" Carson held his right hand out for her inspection, as though expecting her to measure it. The girl looked up, startled, but laughed when she saw his smile.

"It's almost over." He whispered encouragingly. "I'll try to keep it simple. I'm just looking for a pair of long silk gloves in black or white in medium."

Her face fell. "If only it were that simple. The silk gloves have been very popular and we are running low. And the ones we still have are in such a state, it might take some time to locate a matched pair."

"Well, unless there is a new fashion, I think it is important that they match." Carson checked his watch and then scanned the displays. "How about those?"

"Those are the exact opposite of what you asked for, sir."

"Yes, but time is running short for both of us." He reasoned.

"I shall see if we have a pair. It's very likely. The kid gloves have not been as hard hit as the silk."

"But they _are_ matched."

"Well, yes, they are the display pair."

"And I'll take them."

"But is that the color you would like? It's not a color for everyone."

"I think she'll love them."

"Alright," the girl said, taking the plastic hands down from the display behind her and removing the gloves. "After all, it's the thought that counts."

"If that's the case, we're in trouble." Carson said to no one in particular.

"Would you like them wrapped?"

"Have you the time to wrap them? I am having something else wrapped at another counter."

"Of course, I have time. If I'm not helping you, I'd be helping someone else and you've been much kinder than most today." Deftly, she boxed the gloves and pulled out a precut sheet of dark green wrapping paper. "Would you like ribbon and a bow?"

"Certainly. Your choice." Charles looked back towards the brooch counter. The attendant there caught his eye and smiled, waving the wrapped gift for him to see. He nodded his acknowledgement and turned back to pay for Lady Grantham's gloves.

"Happy Christmas." The glove girl said as she gave him his change and the wrapped gift in a small, paper Harrods bag.

"And a Happy Christmas to you, young lady."

This time she sounded a little brighter as she called, "Next."

Carson pushed his way back to the brooch counter. "As promised, I'm back."

"Yes, Mr. Carson. Here is your item." He put the second package into the bag with the first. "That will be eight twelve and three." Carson paid happily. He had found the perfect gift for Mrs. Hughes and there would be no question of it being an appropriate gift between the butler and housekeeper. Carson checked his watch again. He had twenty whole minutes to get back to Painswick Place.

"Thank you and Happy Christmas."

TBC...

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**A/N Charles' shopping trip was very much a collaboration. Thank you for the great suggestions for what Charles should buy Elsie. Specific thanks are below. **

**I love to hear from all of you. Christmas is coming!**

**Sorry, MonaLove, it is WAY too early for an engagement ring, but I used several of your other ideas. Thank you GreysonSteele for the luckenbooth suggestion. Tammy333, I could not fit in the music box this go round, but I'm holding on to that for a later date. Thank you HappyHeart2 for the scarf idea. And, evitamockingbird, you were absolutely correct that Charles would take all day to shop. Thank you to Chelsie fan for reminding me about the ornaments. They will come into play next chapter. Oh, and yes, thank you Julian Fellowes for creating these two characters, even if you are in my dog house right now for not using them enough.**


	10. Ch10: Kensington Gardens Fairies

**Chapter 10: Kensington Gardens Fairies**

"YOU'VE MISSED DINNER, MR. GRANTHAM!" Anders yelled as Carson entered the downstairs entrance of Painswick Place. Carson ignored him and bolted up the stairs to deliver Lady Grantham's gift to Lord Grantham's room. "Deaf as a post." Anders said as he shook his head.

With only moments to spare, Carson pulled the dark green box with a plaid bow out of the Harrods bag and put it on His Lordship's dressing table. Carson knew his services were not needed tonight. Lord Grantham would have plenty of help undressing. Hastily, Carson threw fresh pajamas, a dressing gown and slippers at the small bed. The mantle clock told him he didn't have much time until Lord and Lady Grantham bid the girls goodnight and retired. At the door, Carson scanned the scene, looking for anything glaringly out of place.

_Plaid bow?_ That wasn't the right gift! He'd like to see how His Lordship explained Carson's gift for Mrs. Hughes to Lady Grantham. Carson hurried over and swapped the gifts. _Much better._ This box was also wrapped in green, but it had … a plaid bow! Carson pulled the first box out of the bag and placed the two gifts side by side. They were almost identical in every aspect. The dimensions were the same, the paper was the same Harrods green and they both had plaid bows. The plaids were different, but not very; one had more red than green and one had a lot more red than green.

In a near panic, Carson shook the boxes, first one and then the other, but to no avail. Both gifts had been too well packaged to shift. There was only one way, but there was not much time. Carson would have to open at least one of the gifts.

Carson thought his gift for Elsie would be the heavier of the two, but he could barely discern a difference in their weights. Finally, he just had to plough ahead. Taking the gift he hoped very much was not Her Ladyship's, Carson began to carefully slide the ribbons off without disturbing the bow or wrinkling the paper. Finally, the ribbon was off and the paper unfolded easily. Carson opened the box and dug in the dense tissue paper until he found…Elsie's gift.

_Thank God._ Throwing the ribbon and paper and box into the bag, Carson lunged for the door just as the handle moved. _Blast!_ Coughing terribly, so as to alert His Lordship to his presence, Carson hid the Harrods bag hastily in a drawer of the dressing table.

As the door opened, Carson stood at attention as though he had been expecting Lord Grantham. "Carson?" Robert was confused; he thought Carson had understood that he was not needed this evening.

"Good evening, My Lord. I trust you had a pleasant Christmas Eve?"

"Good evening, Carson." Lady Grantham joined her husband in the doorway.

"My Lady."

"Goodness, Carson! What do you smell like?" Cora exclaimed as the cloud of fragrances surrounding Carson reached her. "And what _have_ you been up to?" She teased.

"I was out enjoying the Christmas excitement and walked into the wrong shop, My Lady." Carson half lied, coloring slightly. He could hardly say he'd been shopping for Her Ladyship or for Mrs. Hughes. "Do you require anything else, My Lord?"

"No, Carson, you are dismissed." Lord Grantham said through clinched teeth.

"Of course, My Lord, I am very sorry. I must have misunderstood you this morning. Apparently, I am going deaf." He added under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing, My Lady, just a little joke between myself and the Painswick staff." Awkwardly, Carson grabbed up the nearest item, which turned out to be a jar of hair pomade. "I was just making sure everything was in order for tomorrow, My Lord. I did not realize the time." He opened the jar, looked at the contents and nodded satisfactorily. He set the brand new jar back on the dresser and tried to look as though he had just averted a major crisis.

"Good night, Carson." Lord Grantham said testily.

"Yes, My Lord. Good night. Good night, My Lady."

-00-

Elsie sat beside the fire in her sitting room, rereading his letter with a large glass of red wine; her second of the evening. After the advice about the fish stew, the content had improved significantly…

'_Though I am glad to be of service to His Lordship, I find that I am feeling rather a hostage in London. While I try to stay busy, there is very little for me to do, compared to the list of things I know I should be doing at Downton._

_I wish I were home to celebrate our first Christmas together as heads of household. I feel guilty for abandoning you to oversee the staff festivities alone, but I am sure you are handling things expertly and I shall be the only one who will feel any negative effects from my absence. _

_London offers its usual distractions, but I cannot even enjoy those. I have just enough free time to leave the house, but not enough to properly visit the museums that are so tantalizingly close. I have indulged in a few walks through Kensington Gardens, which features so heavily in the book I hope you are able to find time to enjoy. _

_I've been trying to catch sight of a sleeping fairy. Though I am skeptical, if Mr. Barrie is correct, they should be hiding in plain sight. I did see a suspect flowerbed yesterday. It is far too early for any flowers, even Snowdrops. I am sure they were a family of disguised fairies._

_Also, I found a ring of mushrooms, where I suspect they've held a dance on more than a few occasions on a walk between the Round Pond and the Long Water- such original names these garden features have! _

_A funny thing happened after luncheon today. I only include it because I know you'll appreciate this, for two reasons; I know you are fond of Lady Sybil and you may have read far enough in the Little White Bird to find the story humorous. _

_I was invited upstairs to witness the girls hanging their bicycle ornaments on the tree. I was flattered that they had remembered to pack them amidst all the excitement surrounding His Lordship's return. Afterward, Lady Sybil asked if she could give me a Thimble. Lady Grantham told her no, as she rightfully should, but none of the other adults knew what they were talking about. They'll find out at the theatre on Saturday. And you either already know or will find out, depending on how far into Mr. Barrie's book you currently are. I shall leave the story there for fear of spoiling the discovery._

_I am reaching that terrible point in a letter where one must either stop writing or commit oneself to an entire additional page. To spare you any further ramblings, I shall stop. Until I am home again, your friend, _

_C. Carson_

_P.S. I cannot make up for missing your first Christmas as Downton's housekeeper, but if there is anything you would like for me to bring you from London, you've only to ask." _

Sighing, Elsie refolded his letter and slid it into the book that sat in her lap; his book, the one she had completed last night. It was hardly a love letter, but it was the first thing he had written to her and she knew she would save it always. He'd sent Mrs. Pearson updates from London this past Season, which she shared with Elsie, but this was written to _her_; too Miss Elsie Hughes. And it was not all work related. He had shared several personal thoughts, silly ideas like the ones that she thought he saved only for the girls. She was in the inner circle of his heart now and it was a warm and comforting place to be.

She smiled to think of him strolling through the palace gardens. No one else in the garden would imagine that the grim faced butler was looking for signs of fairies. For she knew he would be grim faced, considering the temper he claimed to be in. Hopefully, his walks and his thoughts of 'The Little White Bird'; _and of me;_ had the effect of lightening his mood.

She picked up the book and thumbed gently through the pages. She knew he had marked the page with the Thimble scene.

Elsie had been pleasantly surprised to see that Mr. Carson wrote in his books, bracketing and underlining random passages that must have struck a chord with him. It made her want to borrow some of his other personal books, even if there was a copy in the library.

The thimble scene was rather late in the story, during the introduction of Peter Pan. The young girl whom Peter tries to recruit as a mother offers to give Peter a kiss. In the ensuing confusion, Peter comes to believe that a Thimble is called a Kiss and vice versa.

Elsie smiled at the idea of sweet little Sybil giving Mr. Carson a Thimble. In fact, Elsie had witnessed just that this summer. She found the page and reread the strange exchange between Peter and Maimie.

_ '"I shall give you a kiss if you like," but though he once knew he had long forgotten what kisses are, and he replied, "Thank you," and held out his hand, thinking she had offered to put something into it. This was a great shock to her, but she felt she could not explain without shaming him, so with charming delicacy she gave Peter a thimble which happened to be in her pocket, and pretended that it was a kiss. Poor little boy! he quite believed her, and to this day he wears it on his finger, though there can be scarcely anyone who needs a thimble so little.'_

Elsie thought, Peter Pan was a strange mixture of sweet innocence and cruel thoughtlessness. It was the thoughtlessness that hurt people, but they could never stay mad at him for long because of the innocence. She scanned down the page to the section he had bracketed. Sometimes, Mrs. Hughes suspected that Mr. Carson was as innocent about some things as Peter Pan. But he could also be as thoughtless.

_'Also in play, but girl =Wendy' _was written in the margin beside the continuing text.

_"...And if you want very much to give me a kiss," Maimie said, "you can do it." _

_Very reluctantly Peter began to take the thimble off his finger. He thought she wanted it back. _

_"I don't mean a kiss," she said hurriedly, "I mean a thimble." _

_"What's that?" Peter asked. _

_"It's like this," she said, and kissed him. _

_"I should love to give you a thimble," Peter said gravely, so he gave her one. He gave her quite a number of thimbles, and then a delightful idea came into his head! "Maimie," he said, "will you marry me?" _

Elsie thumbed back through the coarse pages to find the page she had almost learned by heart. _The Little White Bird_ was indeed an odd little story, as Mr. Carson had warned her. The main hero was not Peter Pan, but a retired gentleman soldier, unmarried and living the life of the idle rich. He was a no nonsense sort who uses the words of a misanthrope, but performs the actions of a philanthropist. In one humorous series of tales, he basically saves the life of a woman because that woman's husband and daughter were disrupting his lunches at the club by worrying about her health.

He also mends a broken engagement because the couple's misery plays out in front of his club window and it disturbs him. But, even after effecting their reconciliation, he claims it was a malevolent act designed to torture them both with the terrible institution of marriage.

His credibility as a misanthrope is further compromised when he begins to help the young newlyweds financially, mocking them the whole time, but eventually going so far as to purchase the home they are leasing and leasing it back to them on incredibly generous terms.

The heart of the story is the relationship between the gentleman and this couple's son. At one point, he makes up a son of his own so he can talk to the young father. He names his son Timothy and talks about him as if he were real. When the fathers exchange stories about their children, the gentleman describes his adventures with his Saint Bernard.

Elsie understood now what Charles meant by Barrie seeing the world through the eyes of a child. This character was exactly like that. He had somehow retained the boundless imagination of a child, but had difficulties reconciling that with the expectations society placed on adults of his station. He went to his club, but he also enjoyed telling stories to children in Kensington Gardens.

If the story were not written from the man's point of view, Elsie was sure the relationship between the child and the older man might feel off. But, the man's motives were clearly not sinister. Through the narrative, it is revealed that the older gentleman is just lonely and finds it easier to interact with those whom society has not yet molded; namely his dog and the young boy.

The story treats the graduation to wearing knickerbockers as a boy's rite of passage to manhood and the beginning of the end of his imagination. The gentleman laments this passage as though losing a friend to Death. _ Certainly, the loss of innocence is a sort of death,_ Elsie thought. The boy, David, is almost the same age as Lady Sybil and reminded Elsie very much of the youngest Crawley. Sybil was approaching the age at which, like her sisters before her, she would have to begin to conform to society's pressures. Elsie hoped the child would retain some of her sweetness.

In one of the more bizarre events, of the story, the man kills off his imaginary son so he can make a gift of clothing to the young family without it seeming strange. They see through the ruse pretty easily, but he still refuses to admit anything. In fact, he refuses to speak to David's mother throughout the entire book, competing with her for David's attention, calling her all sorts of names and crowing when David chooses the man's company over his mother's. To a man like that, Peter Pan was the perfect hero; no responsibilities, no fears. The only thing Peter ever regrets is not having a mother, but even that, he cannot regret for long.

All in all, it was a book that, like its protagonist, did not ask to be taken too seriously. It was primarily a silly story about adventures between friends in the heart of London. Was it odd that those friends were a retired soldier, a five year old boy and a Saint Bernard? Perhaps, but the story was entertaining. There were some very serious, even poignant passages. The book opened automatically to one such passage. He had obviously read this page many times.

In the middle of the right hand page, the majority of a paragraph was surrounded by bold double brackets. He had even underlined a few sentences. Elsie filled her wine glass again before she reread the words for the umpteenth time. The bachelor gentleman was recollecting the lost love of his youth.

_"I hear her hailing me now. She was so light-hearted that her laugh is what comes first across the years; so high-spirited that she would have wept like Mary of Scots because she could not lie on the bare plains like the men. I hear her, but it is only as an echo; I see her, but it is as a light among distant trees, and the middle-aged man can draw no nearer; she was only for the boys. There was a month when I could have shown her to you in all her bravery, but then the veil fell, and from that moment I understood her not. For long I watched her, but she was never clear to me again, and for long she hovered round me, like a dear heart willing to give me a thousand chances to regain her love. She was so picturesque that she was the last word of art, but she was as young as if she were the first woman. The world must have rung with gallant deeds and grown lovely thoughts for numberless centuries before she could be; she was the child of all the brave and wistful imaginings of men. She was as mysterious as night when it fell for the first time upon the earth. She was the thing we call romance, which lives in the little hut beyond the blue haze of the pine-woods."_

Elsie mused over this page for many silent minutes, sipping her wine and imagining these words, especially the underlined words, spoken in Mr. Carson's gentlest voice; the one he used when comforting the girls or wishing her a good night. Some part of her wanted to believe that he thought of her when he read these words, as she thought of him.

_That's it!_ She decided. She was going to bloody well find out! Elsie walked unsteadily to her desk and withdrew her stationary. Pouring the last of the wine from the bottle, she contemplated how to begin. Finally, she put her pen to the paper and wrote, "To My Dearest Butler…"

* * *

**A/N Yup, I believe Elsie is about to perform the Edwardian equivalent to a drunk dial;)**

**I hope you enjoyed my little book report on The Little White Bird. It really is very sweetly written and offers a great insight into the turn of the last century. **


	11. Ch11: The Little White Bird

**Chapter 11: The Little White Bird **

The bell over the door at the The Blackbird Tavern rang dully as Carson entered the dark and empty pub.

"Look what the reindeer dragged in! Charlie bloody Carson! What are you doing in town? Have they moved the Season?"

"No, Jack, the Season is as it ever was. I'm in town with the family, welcoming His Lordship back from the African War." Carson hung his hat and coat by the door and approached the bar, putting a parcel on the bar before him. "He arrived on Monday."

"Why didn't you stop buy before?"

"I haven't been in the neighborhood before now. I'm avoiding the servant's lunchtime Christmas celebration by volunteering to run an errand to Grantham House. I thought I'd drop by and wish you merry. I needed to see some friendly faces." He looked around the empty bar and smiled sadly. "I guess I'll settle for you."

"Your tough luck, Chuck." The barman laughed. "You're not at Granthan House?"

"No, we're with His Lordship's sister, Lady Rosamund, at Painswick Place."

"Where's Painswick Place?"

"Number 81 Onslow Square. But don't let Lady Rosamund hear you call it that. She's put a brass placard by the door and insists on calling in Painswick Place."

"I'll be sure not to slip up the next time she comes in." The publican took down an empty pint glass and headed to the taps for Carson's usual.

"I think I need something stronger, today, Jack."

"Instead of or in addition to?" Jack asked, his hand already on the handle.

"Well, you've practically pulled the pint, and it is Christmas…"

"Good man." Jack pulled the draft as he talked. "Why the extra fortification?"

"Let's just say the day didn't get off to a very promising start."

-00-

The Downton tradition was for the family to dress informally for breakfast and gifts. Carson was not needed until eleven to dress His Lordship before the servant's luncheon. After those duties, he would be free to enjoy the festivities downstairs or spend his day however he liked until five in the evening. So, Carson was very surprised to hear the bell for His Lordship's dressing room ring at eight on Christmas morning.

"YOU'RE WANTED UPSTAIRS, MR. GRANTHAM!" The kitchen maid bellowed. Setting down his unfinished toast, Carson smiled and nodded dumbly. It wasn't worth his time to try and fix this problem this morning.

"Was there something you needed, My Lord?" Carson asked when he arrived upstairs. Lord Grantham was wearing trousers and a shirt under his dressing gown. It was his usual Christmas attire.

"Two things, Carson. Firstly, what on earth moved you to buy Her Ladyship kid leather gloves when I specifically told you to buy silk?"

Carson dropped his head in shame. "To be honest, My Lord, the Harrods glove counter was in such a state, they were the easiest thing to buy. If I'd insisted on silk, I would still be there or I'd have brought back two right hand gloves."

"Well, leather was not a bad choice, but, fuchsia? Why not in black or tan? I didn't even know what to call that color until Lady Grantham told me. Honestly, _fuchsia? _ Like the flower?_"_

"Did Her Ladyship not approve?"

"She said she needed a new pair of winter gloves, but is unsure of the color. She's withholding judgment until she sees what Rosamund says."

Carson felt rather guilty. He should have put more thought into Her Ladyship's present, but he had been distracted by his quest for a gift for Mrs. Hughes. "That does not bode well." Rosamund rarely approved of anything unless it was a well-established fashion.

"No, it does not. But, we shall deal with that as it comes. What most concerns me is this." Lord Grantham held up Elsie's unwrapped present. "What is the meaning of this?"

"That is what I bought with the money you gave me, My Lord. The two boxes were wrapped identically, so I had to open one to make sure Lady Grantham received the correct gift. Luckily, I guessed correctly. I would have taken it away with me, but you arrived before I could leave. I did not want Lady Grantham to know that I had done your shopping, so I hid it."

"Do you think Lady Grantham believes I purchased those gloves? She's on to us, Carson." Lord Grantham laughed. "On the bright side, at least if she doesn't like them, I can blame you. I have not left this house without her since I've been back. She knows exactly where I've been and she knows I've been nowhere near Harrods. And I was nearly as shocked by the gloves as she was."

Carson felt silly when he realized that Lord Grantham was absolutely correct. "I was not thinking clearly, My Lord. It had been a very long day of shopping."

"So I could smell." Robert quipped. "And you were shopping for_ this_ rather than for the gloves I requested for Her Ladyship?"

"I shopped for both, My Lord." But Carson knew His Lordship did not believe him.

"And who, may I ask, is this for? I cannot see you wearing it, Carson. Not really your style." Robert was being shorter with Carson than he intended to be. He was not in a very good mood. Frankly, he was loathe to go downstairs and face his no doubt high-spirited family.

"I purchased it for Mrs. Hughes, the new housekeeper, My Lord. Though you were most generous to suggest I purchase something for myself, I felt I am very well compensated for my service. I certainly did not need a new hat."

"But should you be buying something so expensive for a colleague, Carson?"

"I thought it would be a kind gesture from the family to commemorate her first Christmas as housekeeper. Surely you do not find it inappropriate. It's very practical."

Lord Grantham could not argue with that. He admitted he had a hard time imagining that any woman would interpret this gift as a flirtation. But he knew nothing of this Mrs. Hughes and Carson was a bit of a dark horse. "Lady Grantham says Mrs. Hughes is very competent, though I was surprised to learn how young she is. That won't be a distraction, will it, Carson?"

"A distraction, My Lord?" Carson tried to sound as innocent as possible. "How so?"

Robert considered him silently, as though not convinced by Carson's casual act. "Just see that it isn't. If it becomes a disruption, I fear we would have to let her go. We would give her an excellent reference, of course, but I will not have Downton compromised by…"

"By what, My Lord?" Carson, now bit back a thousand words that threatened to spill out of him. Had His Lordship honestly suggested sacking Mrs. Hughes because of Mr. Carson's weakness? It was patently unfair. Even with an excellent reference, anyone hiring for a large house would read between the lines and assume some deficiency on her part. Being sent away from Downton would damage her career, perhaps irreparably. And Carson would be the cause. Carson forced his breathing to remain steady.

"Just be mindful, Carson. That is all I am asking."

"Certainly, My Lord, but I assure you it is an unnecessary caution."

"I am glad to hear it."

-00-

"Is this about that housemaid of yours?"

Carson sulked into his beer. "She isn't mine, Jack. And she isn't a housemaid anymore. She's the housekeeper."

"That makes you equals, don't it?"

"Yes, but that does not make a relationship any more appropriate. Nothing can come of it. I should never have even mentioned it to you."

"Well, when you come into my pub with a face like that, I've got to know why. First I've ever seen you homesick for Downton during the Season. That's why I put Paulie on the job."

"Is Paul around? I've brought him a gift." Charles patted the package on the bar. "His Lordship's old coat. Lady Grantham insisted on buying him a whole new wardrobe. Apparently, he was out of style even before he spent two years out of country."

"Well, he'll get good use out of it, will Paulie. Shaping up to be a cold winter; colder than normal. He'll be sorry that he missed you, but he's unlikely to come in today. People are more generous on Christmas. He'll make a killing at St. Paul's."

"He will if he gets a farthing for every time he tells that awful joke."

"Rob Paul to pay Paulie!" They both quoted. Charles raised his glass and toasted the air before downing the last of the scotch.

"How is he doing, Jack? He didn't seem well in June."

"How would you be doing if you spent every waking hour drunk? Some nights he doesn't even make it back here before I lock up. I don't know where he sleeps then."

"You're a good man, Jack; giving him a roof and looking after him. I know I've said it before, but you're a good man." Charles was working on his beer now and raised he glass to the humbled barman.

"His son were a friend of mine. I knew him before…well, before everything. He's got a good heart, but it's been shattered. Sometimes it's sad to see how life alters us." They carried on in silence for a while, occasionally hearing a shout from the street.

"Well, I should go soon." Charles finished off his pint, thought for a bit and tapped the shorter glass. "But I've time for one more, for the road, please, Jack."

"I'll join you." Jack said, pouring a pair of Scotches. "I need it. I'll tell you, Charlie, never buy a woman a practical gift."

Charles looked worried by this advice. "Even if she's a practical woman?"

"Even then. There's none so steady as my Beth, but I've a hole to dig myself out of today and that's the truth."

"What did you do?"

" I bought her a cast iron frying pan. Cost me a pretty penny and she's been asking for one for months. I thought I couldn't go wrong."

"But?"

"But apparently I am a callous clod who thinks she's good for nothing but cooking and…well, I won't say what _she _said. I ought to be at home right now, trying to apologize or out shopping for a makeup gift."

"Then why bother opening the bar today? It's empty. You can't be expecting much business."

"Just wait until two thirty. I'll be so busy with fathers trying to escape their families you won't be able to turn around for the crowd."

"Honestly?"

"It's like clockwork, every year. Two o'clock; tea with the kids and the missus. Two thirty; a pint with the lads. Less than a third of them make it home for dinner."

"Is being a father so trying then?"

"Ask me again when you've had a go at it."

"That's not likely." Carson said sadly.

"I didn't mean anything by it Charlie."

"I know, Jack, I just feel a little… betwixt and between."

"Huh?"

"Never mind." He finished the last of his Scotch in one large swig and swung down from the bar stool. "Well, I'll be off then. I'm not much for crowds. Give my best to Beth and the kids. I hope Beth forgives you."

"She can't help but forgive me. But I'll bring her some chocolates, just in case. Ta, Charlie."

"Ta, Jack, see you in the spring. Tell Paul I said Happy Christmas."

-00-

Christmas morning dawned coldly in Mrs. Hughes' office. She'd fallen asleep at her desk. Groggy from last night's indulgence, Elsie walked over to her mirror to check her appearance.

"Oh, good Lord." She had an ink stain on her chin that clearly read, 'Lond' Her brain struggled with this bit of information. Had someone snuck in and written on her face? If so, how was it that the mirror image read as clear as day?

"Daft woman." She scolded her image. "You fell asleep after addressing the letter." _The letter! _What had she written? She couldn't remember the words exactly, but she remembered feeling bold and happy as she had written them.

Rubbing at her chin, Elsie looked at the letter lying on her desk, knowing she could never send it. But it had felt wonderful to write. To openly express how dear his every gesture was to her. It had felt so freeing to allow herself to even entertain the daft notion of telling him how her heart fluttered when they shared a knowing look or, if she was lucky, a secret smile. Elsie felt sad to know it would have to go directly into the fire. She picked up the letter and turned to her grate, but the fire had burnt out in the night. She did not dare try to burn it in one of the more public fires.

She would have to deal with that later. It was after five already. She could already hear Anna bustling about in the kitchen. Elsie's first concern was to remove the ink from her face. That would take some hot water and a lot of scrubbing. She hurried upstairs, placing the letter back on her desk.

It had taken some considerable elbow grease, but Elsie had succeeded in removing the incriminating ink from her chin. Though her head was throbbing a bit, Mrs. Hughes looked none the worse for wear as she descended the stairs from the women's corridor.

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes?" The footman greeted her as she entered the servant's hall.

"Yes, Geoffrey?"

"I hope you don't mind, but I posted your letter to Mr. Carson. I was helping Anna with the fires and I saw it. I couldn't find you to ask, but if it didn't catch the early post today, I was worried it wouldn't reach him before they left London. Mr. Carson says a good valet must learn to anticipate these things." Geoffrey smiled, expecting to be praised for his initiative. "Are you quite alright, Mrs. Hughes?"

-00-

Elsie spent all of Christmas day trying not to think of the letter and failing miserably. In her mind's eye, she saw the little letter winging its way to London as merry as a lark carrying her doom.

Little snippets of what she had written kept occurring to her at random moments.

_"I still dream of tumbling on the grass with you and I imagine you chasing me about the lawn, as you promised."_ _Groan._

_"We don't need Downton. We only need each other."_ _Oh, God._

The worst of it was the post script. _"P.S. The only thing I want from London is a thimble from My Butler. Your Housekeeper will have one waiting for you, in your parlor at Downton."  
_

All around her, the staff were making merry with Christmas crackers and the wine Mr. Carson had left for them. Mrs. Patmore had opened her Christmas Port and was allowing Anna a small taste to accompany her pudding. All Elsie wanted to do was crawl into a deep hole and hide until her humiliation went away. That would only take a few hundred years, she reckoned.

With no family to wait on tonight, there was no reason to stop the festivities, and Elsie let them carry on through dinner and into the late evening. Elsie did not feel much like joining in, but did not wish to dampen their spirits. She joined in a few carols, but retired to her sitting room well before midnight, coming out at random intervals to confirm that everyone was still behaving themselves. Several of the staff noticed her restraint and were duly impressed. "And that's why she's in charge." Geoffrey said, putting his hand suggestively on Marjorie's knee as Mrs. Hughes turned back to her office.

They carried on into the late hours. Roger was trying to teach Laurel a song on the piano. "Mind your hands, Roger." Elsie cautioned him on more than one occasion. Finally, well after two, Mrs. Hughes called curfew. "You'll all need to be up bright and early tomorrow." She teased them. "I expect you all at table promptly by one. There will be a cold breakfast available for those who want it. Mrs. Patmore has set it out in the kitchen already."

Elsie wearily climbed the stairs. She checked in with each of the girls to confirm they were not downstairs, subjecting themselves to the advances of two inebriated and rather randy footmen. Satisfied, she finally retired to her own room. She'd been in her corset for over forty hours now. She moaned with satisfaction as she loosened the laces. Slipping into her nightgown, Elsie remembered the lovely dreams she'd had last night, sleeping at her desk, believing that she and Mr. Carson could love each other. She had dreamed of _'a little hut beyond the blue haze of the pine-woods.'_

She walked sadly to her window to let in a breath of fresh, cold air. Her bicycle ornament hung there. It was such a dear little treasure and the sight of it usually cheered her, but tonight its heart shaped wheels taunted her. She had an urge to break the little toy in half and toss it out the window, but she knew she could never do that.

Elsie closed the window and climbed into bed. She wondered when the letter would reach him and what he would do when it did. Would he dismiss it as the drunken ramblings it appeared to be, or would he see it as the honest appeal for love that it was? Would he recommend that she be sacked or would he drop everything and come flying home to her? As she lay, considering the possibilities, a calm washed over her. Whatever was to happen was now out of her hands. Fate had decided that her dilemma must be resolved sooner rather than later. There was a comfort in that notion. Come what may, she would have her answer in three days at the latest.

TBC...

* * *

**A/N This story is already four chapters longer than I'd envisioned, but it keeps running away from me. Please comment if you've the time and the inclination. I'll be away for the weekend, but will try to post if I get the chance.  
**


	12. Ch12: Gentleman Starkey

**A/N I know we are all as anxious as Mr. Carson and Lord G to get back to Downton, but we still have a few days to kill until the play, so we'll enjoy some time with the girls and will have to wait to see if the British Postal Service will aid the cause of true love or not.**

* * *

**Chapter 12: Gentleman Starkey**

Boxing Day was a personal hell for every adult upstairs at Painswick Place. Miss Randall had developed a terrible head cold from taking the girls to the park in too light a coat. Every member of the family had been recruited to entertain the girls in their turn. By luncheon, the girls had burned through all the good will in their Grandmama, their aunt, their father and even their mother. Somehow, Cora managed to get them to take a brief nap after lunch, but upon waking, the young ladies continued to dance on her last, frayed nerve.

"MR. GRANTHAM!" Carson nearly jumped out the window as the young footman appeared from nowhere, screaming at the top of his voice. "YOU ARE REQUESTED IN THE DRAWING ROOM!" He mimed something at Carson that may have been people sipping tea. Leaving His Lordship's new dress coat half brushed on the valet's helper, Carson dutifully answered the summons. He had some idea what to expect. He had passed Lady Violet earlier today on the way to her room. She had started to say something, but had been speechless, fanning herself with her hand and rolling her eyes as if to say, "Well, I ask you!"

"You wished to see me, My Lord?"

"Take them away!" Lady Rosamund begged before Lord Grantham could speak.

Lady Cora was a little less direct, but no less desperate. "Carson, the girls are very restless today and I am afraid we are not up to the task of entertaining them properly without Miss Randall. I know you have been enjoying afternoon walks to the gardens. Would you please take the girls with you today? Just for an hour?"

"Or two." Lord Grantham added, rubbing his temples with his thumbs. Carson knew that Christmas Day had been very difficult for His Lordship. It had been nonstop chattering and excitement and food and drink and music and charades. And Carson noted that the whiskey decanter looked sorely depleted this morning. His professional pride told him he would never have allowed the Downton decanter to get so low.

"Is there no maid that can take them, My Lady? I was organizing His Lordship's new wardrobe." He conveniently neglected to say that he was almost finished with this task.

"Surely that can wait? They don't know any of Rosamund's maids. They know and trust you, Carson."

"It can wait, Carson." Lord Grantham informed him.

How could he turn them down? He had spent most of the last three days with next to nothing to do. Mary and Edith practically look after themselves, so long as they have something interesting to focus on and don't resort to attacking each other. Sybil required a little more attention, but she was well behaved and would obey his instructions.

"I was planning to head to the gardens later, regardless, My Lady. I can easily go now and I would be very pleased for the young ladies to accompany me."

"God bless you, Carson." His Lordship sighed wearily. He would not normally have been so informal with the butler in front of other people, but Cora and Rosamund knew Carson quite as well as Robert did, so the formality could slide under such extreme circumstances.

The air was heavy with a cold mist. The streets were damp, though it had not rained. The three Crawley girls stood on the front step of 81 Onslow Square as if waiting for inspection. Carson stood imperiously before them. "You are to hold hands and stay just in front of me until we reach the garden gate. When we reach the gardens, you are free to run about all you like, though I do ask that you take care not to step on any fairies." He eyed Lady Sybil very seriously. "And what do the fairies look like?"

"Flowers." The youngest Crawley answered confidently. Carson nodded emphatically and caught Mary's eye before she could correct her sister.

"Exactly. So long as you keep within eyesight of myself and both your sisters, you may search for them all you like. It would not do to become separated. We will be headed to the Round Pond first and then choose our course. If there is any misbehavior or fighting, the outing will be terminated and we shall return to Painswick Place immediately. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Carson." Came the chorus of an answer.

"If we become separated for any reason, we are to meet at the Albert Memorial. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Carson."

Apparently satisfied, Carson straightened up and clasped his gloved hands behind his back.

"Very well, take your sister's hands and let us proceed." With Sybil in the middle, the Crawley girls walked three abreast up Bute Street to Stanhope Gardens. All the while, the butler walked sentinel behind them. They made an odd sight as they turned up Queen's Gate and walked the several blocks past the museums before reaching Kensington Gardens. After they reached the gate, they could see the Albert Memorial and the Royal Albert Hall.

"Before we enter, where do we meet if we are separated?"

All three girls pointed to the ornate canopy of the Memorial and said, "At Prince Albert."

"Alright then." Carson smiled, satisfied, "In we go."

The girls still held hands and stuck close to Carson until they had crossed the Flower Walk and had turned slightly Northwesterly towards the Round Pond. Here, the park opened up into wide lawns, through which the paths crisscrossed. At the lawns, Ladies Edith and Sybil tore off into the grass to join a few random games of chase and to inspect some of the new Christmas toys other children were displaying. Lady Mary walked in a dignified manner at Carson's side. He had slowed his strides and shortened them to allow her to stroll easily with him.

"Should you not like to run about, My Lady? There is not much chance to stretch your legs at Painswick Place."

"Perhaps when we reach the Pond, Carson. I wish we were back at Downton."

"But are you not excited to see the play?"

"Yes, but Papa is not happy here, how can I be? He obviously wishes to go home. Mama and Aunt Rosamund should respect that."

"If they understood how much he wished to be home, they would, My Lady. But they cannot believe anyone could not enjoy this exciting time in London. In this respect, you understand your father more clearly than they."

Lady Mary nodded gravely. Carson wished there was something more he could say. Something like, _But it is not your responsibility to worry about your father. He is a grown man._ He held his tongue, knowing that speaking so frankly would be overstepping his place.

They walked a little further. While searching for fairies in a dormant flowerbed, Sybil had found a dog to chase. The little terrier was running about the lawn, joyful at finding someone to play with, its red tongue lolled out of its smiling mouth. Lady Sybil was no less ecstatic. Lady Edith was laughing and egging them both on. Every now and then, the dog would run at her and she would squeal and run away until the dog gave up the chase. "That is so unbecoming." Lady Mary lamented.

Carson said nothing as he and Lady Mary approached the person they assumed to be the dog's owner. The man tipped his hat to Lady Mary and then to Carson. Mary gave him a courteous nod and Carson returned his gesture. "Christmas is so busy; I've not been able to take him on a proper walk. He's been cooped up for days." The owner explained.

"I believe the same may be said for the young ladies." Carson confided. Lady Mary twitched next to him. He knew she wanted to join her sisters, but didn't want to appear undignified. Lord Grantham detested anything undignified. "May I pet your dog?" Carson asked.

"Certainly. DUKE, come boy!" Mary took a step back as the dog and her two sisters immediately changed directions and pelted towards them. The owner knelt down and swept Duke into his arms. "Say, 'hello', Duke."

The terrier squirmed with excitement as his owner stood up and presented him to Carson. Though Carson really had no desire to pet the dog, he removed his gloves and scratched the dog behind the ear. The fact that Carson had petted the dog made the action acceptable in Lady Mary's eyes. She slipped off her own small gloves and patted the dog on the nose. Duke licked eagerly at her fingers and she giggled, despite herself. Lady Edith and Lady Sybil had reached them now and were thrilled that their prey had finally been caught. They all patted at him lovingly. The excitement was finally too much for little Duke and he managed to squirm out of his owner's hold and take off across the lawn again. Now all three girls pelted after him, calling his name.

"Your daughters are delightful." The man said amiably to Carson as the four happy creatures chased about on the lawn.

"They are delightful." Carson agreed. He was tempted to leave it there, but could not bring himself to deceive this stranger. "But they are not mine. They are the children of the house in which I work. Their governess is ill and they were feeling 'cooped up' as you say."

The man looked at Carson properly now. "Butler?"

Carson nodded.

"I've been coming to these gardens for years, but I don't believe I've ever seen a butler as governess." The man laughed. "No offense meant."

"None taken." Carson assured him. They stood in an awkward silence, watching the laughing girls as the dog barked and teased them. "You say you've been coming here for years?"

"That's correct."

"Have you ever perchance seen a man with a Saint Bernard?" Carson could not help himself from asking. On his several walks through the gardens, though he'd felt rather silly about it, he'd kept an eye out for a Saint Bernard.

"A Saint Bernard? I should think it very difficult to keep such a large dog in the city. Why do you ask?"

"A silly reason, really. I have read a book about someone who brings a Saint Bernard to Kensington Gardens and I suppose…never mind, it was a silly notion. I had it in my mind that the book was rather based on the author's life and I wondered if you had ever seen him."

"I should think I would remember such a large dog." The man replied.

"Of course, as I say, it was silly." Carson smiled as he noticed that Lady Mary had actually caught Duke again. She'd had the good sense to stop chasing him and simply to kneel and call his name. Like a homing pigeon being chased by hawks, Duke dove into her arms with Ladies Sybil and Edith close on his heels.

All four seemed sufficiently exhausted now. The three girls sat on the lawn with the subdued dog trotting happily from caress to caress until finally flopping down on his back in the middle where all the girls could reach him and scratch his belly.

"I believe the game is at an end." The dog's owner smiled, "The girls are victorious! Beauty has once again tamed the Beast."

The two men approached the happy circle. Duke bounded up with newfound energy as his owner approached. Carson was not sure the girls could match his limitless energy, but thought he knew of something that might get them moving again, rather than sitting on the cold ground. "Shall we continue to the Round Pond in search of some cocoa?" Indeed, the girls rose quickly at this suggestion. "You and Duke are welcome to join us, sir."

"Thank you for the invitation, but we've had our cocoa for the day. It was a pleasure meeting all of you lovely, young Ladies. Perhaps we shall meet again."

"Thank you, Mr….?" Lady Mary looked at Carson, expecting a proper introduction. Carson was ashamed to realize that he had not asked the man's name.

"When in Kensington Gardens, I am simply, Duke's Papa." The man answered enigmatically.

"And I am Lady Mary Crawley. These are my sisters Lady Edith and Lady Sybil. And, of course, you've met our Carson."

"As I said, it was a pleasure. I'll bid you all a good day." Duke's Papa bowed graciously and started down a path towards the Queen's Gate. Duke trotted off after him.

"Now, about that cocoa?" Carson began.

"Carson, if you do not mind, we've been talking this morning and I believe we have a better idea." Lady Mary interrupted him.

"Indeed?" Carson raised his eyebrows in a way that told Mary that he was listening, but she had better be very persuasive.

"I've brought our Christmas money and we should like to go shopping." Lady Mary swept her had towards Edith and Sybil, indicating that her sisters were in agreement. They nodded enthusiastically.

Though Carson had had his fill of shopping, he knew the girls would have little other chance to shop in London. But on Boxing Day?

"Perhaps we could plan on that for tomorrow, My Lady. The crowds today are…" _rabid_ "…copious on Boxing Day. I do not feel that I could properly look after all three of you at once. Tomorrow will be much better. Miss Randall might be recovered and, perhaps, Lady Grantham will be able to join you. I know she should love to go shopping with you."

"I have an idea." Lady Edith offered. "Let us get some cocoa and then return to Painswick Place. Perhaps Mama will be feeling better after tea and can take us shopping?"

"That is an excellent plan." Carson agreed readily. As little as he wanted to go shopping with the girls, he had certainly not wanted to do so without informing Her Ladyship. "I believe our best option for cocoa is by the Round Pond."

-00-

Back at Painswick Place, the girls found Lady Grantham much revived from tea and from her few hours of calm. She thought joining the Boxing Day crowds would be an exciting adventure for the girls and was wholeheartedly behind the plan. If Carson had been expecting to be released from shopping duties, he quickly discovered otherwise.

Cora did not even ask Robert to come. One look at him told her it was a lost cause and she did not want to argue with him in front of the girls. "Could you please continue as guardian today, Carson? Rosamund has already gone out, and Miss Randall is still quite ill."

With a pained expression on his face, Carson nodded. "Of course, My Lady."

"May we go to Harrods, Mama?" Lady Mary asked.

"Certainly." Lady Cora promised, ignoring the panicked look Carson was giving her. How bad could it really be?

Harrods was worse today than it had been on Christmas Eve. All the holiday spirit had been sucked out of these people and replaced by frantic, mercenary greed. On one occasion, Carson had to sweep Lady Sybil into his arms to keep her from being swallowed up by a melee over a table of discounted woman's shawls. Shopping here was not possible. After twenty minutes of observing the chaos, Lady Grantham admitted defeat and withdrew.

"Might I suggest Covent Gardens, My Lady?" Carson suggested as they pressed through the throng of people towards the exit. He was carrying both Lady Edith and Lady Sybil at this point, with Lady Grantham and Lady Mary each clinging to one of his elbows for fear of being lost in the crowd.

"Yes!" She shouted to be heard.

Covent Garden was no less crowded than Harrods, but the crowd was less hostile and there were some pockets of relief from the dense mass of people. Carson knew Covent Garden quite well and was able to navigate them expertly from shop to shop.

Sybil wanted to buy something for Lady Violet. Carson suggested tea, knowing full well that the tea shop would be almost empty. The girl behind the counter did not recognize Mr. Carson at once, but, did recognize the name of Downton. Carson always placed an ongoing order for Downton before he left each season. The Downton blend was very particular and the shop owners were proprietary over the recipe.

Once the girl realized the importance of her guests, she was very accommodating and allowed the girls to smell all the exotic teas. She even brewed a pot of the mixture Sybil had created, with her mother's help for the Dowager Countess. Satisfied with the result, Sybil had bought two bags of the blend for her Grandmama.

Lady Mary wanted to buy some cigars for His Lordship. As soon as the group entered the shop, the tobacconist cried out, "Mr. Carson! What a pleasant surprise. You are out of your season."

"Hello, Mr. Goode. The family are enjoying the holidays in London, this year. You will be pleased to know that you may begin shipping our orders to Downton rather than Africa. His Lordship is returned home."

"Excellent news. And who are all these lovely ladies you've brought into my shop? I get very few Ladies to brighten my store."

Carson introduced Lady Grantham and the girls. "Lady Mary is looking for something very special for His Lordship. You know his tastes, perhaps you could assist her?"

"Gladly." Both Carson and the tobacconist knew exactly what Lord Grantham would want, but Mr. Goode was a kind man and he gently led Lady Mary to the correct selection; something slightly spicier than His Lordship's usual, but very much in the same family. He knew the girl would be very proud to be able to tell her father that she chose these cigars herself.

Edith's shopping project was to get something for her Aunt Rosamund. This was by far the most challenging mission of the day. Most of the afternoon was spent in pursuit of this elusive quarry. Carson was very glad when Lady Grantham immediately eliminated perfume from the list of possible gifts for Lady Rosamund. "She's very particular and I don't think any of us could afford her tastes in this arena." Carson's coat was almost fully recovered from his last shopping outing. He feared another round of scented barrages would ruin the coat completely.

At one point in their search, Mr. Carson found himself in a shop surrounded by tiny, ceramic objects and delicate music boxes. He felt like the proverbial bull in the china shop, afraid to turn around for fear of knocking something over.

While the ladies perused the figurines, Mr. Carson bided his time amongst the slightly more sturdily built music boxes. He even dared to touch a few. He found one that played the tune for 'My Luv is Like a Red, Red Rose.' He wound it up several times and watched the little rose rotate as the box played its sweet Scottish tune. A small smile came to his lips, thinking of a certain Scottish housekeeper. He had hoped that she might write back to him after the letter he had sent. Perhaps she did not think a letter would reach him in time, or perhaps she had sent a letter and it had arrived in the afternoon post.

"I don't think this will match the décor of your pantry, Carson." Lady Grantham teased him. She had come over to inform him that they were ready to move on and was astonished to find her stoic butler so fascinated by a music box.

Startled from his musical musing, Carson made no answer but nodded and smiled abashedly.

"I believe we are almost done, Carson. I should like to stop by a chocolatiers' to purchase truffles for the staff. I know I've been a terror to work for just recently and they've handled everything so professionally. I should like to show my thanks. Though they are fading, I think the girls can last through one more store, especially if chocolate is involved."

Looking at the young ladies, Carson had to agree, they were indeed fading quickly. They would certainly sleep well tonight. "The chocolates are not necessary, My Lady. You have not been anything like a terror, as you put it." He lied. "But the staff would certainly welcome such a thoughtful gesture."

Finally, the weary hunters returned to Painswick Place. Everyone was far too tired to offer or receive gifts tonight. It was deemed more appropriate to wait until after breakfast the next day.

Miss Randall was feeling slightly better and was able to help bathe the girls after they'd had a quick dinner, but even this little excursion wearied her to the point that she was forced back to her own bed immediately after.

Mr. Carson was called into action one final time today to read them to sleep. But instead of reading to them, Carson told them tales of the food carts that would be at the theatre the next evening. "After the play, you will be greeted by the smells from dozens of food carts and beverage carts. Some will have fresh made toffees or chocolates. Others have roasted chestnuts or hot cashews from Brazil. There is one fellow who sells Chelsea Buns the size of your head! And all the beverages! You can choose hot goat's milk or cocoa or coffee or apple cider or ginger beer or anything you've ever dreamed of."

The girls drifted off to sleep dreaming alternately of their day's adventures and of the promise of tomorrow evening at the theatre. Lord Grantham had kindly given Carson the night off from valet duties, so Mr. Carson skipped the servant's dinner that evening and went directly to sleep in his little room. The little letter addressed to Mr. Charles Carson sat unclaimed on Mr. Anders' desk.

TBC…

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**A/N- Since this story is running longer than expected, I'm using some rather obscure characters. Gentleman Starkey is, along with Mr. Smee, one of the only two survivors of the massacre of Hook's crew. He is ultimately forced to become the nanny to the Indian tribe in the play, so it seemed appropriate to a chapter of Carson playing nanny. **

**Shout out to Tammy333 for the music box idea. I'm glad I could use it, even if I couldn't give it the treatment it deserved.**

**After a long weekend away, I was pleasantly surprised to find so many thoughtful reviews to the last chapter. I will be trying to reply to each of them later today, but I have to catch up on my reading/reviewing as well. There are so many wonderful Chelsie fanfics going on right now, I feel as though Christmas has come early!**

**Please do continue to review if you've the time. They are much appreciated.**


	13. Ch13:Peter Pan

**Chapter 13: Peter Pan**

Saturday, December 27th was finally upon them. The girls awoke from their slumbers with groggy smiles on their faces. The thin threads of their happy sleep were not yet broken and they could remember, if not the details of their dreams, then at least the happy feelings those dreams had generated.

Lady Mary was thrilled to be attending her first proper night at the theatre. She had been to several pantomimes but they had all been matinees where the children outnumbered the adults in the audience. She was a little put out that Edith was being allowed to attend, but she felt no such bitterness towards Sybil's inclusion. Surprisingly, Mary was cognizant enough to realize the hypocrisy of her feelings, but this awareness was not enough to change how she felt. Thankfully, Mary knew better than to make an issue of it, and she chose to simply accept both her sisters' presence this evening.

Lady Edith almost remembered her dream. She was the tallest, prettiest and eldest daughter of a Duke. Princes lined up before her father's grand house waiting to ask for her hand in marriage. Sybil's excited cries of "Good morning, Edith! Today's the day!", broke her last tenuous grasp on this fantasy.

Lady Sybil awoke equally excited about attending the play and the opportunity to present her gift to her Grandmama. After the adults had breakfasted, they were asked to assemble in the front parlor. Each recipient was prepared to be dutifully grateful and each was pleasantly surprised by the lovely gift they received. All three girls basked in the radiant gratitude of a thoughtful gift well given.

"Sybil, I shall save this blend for when you visit me at the Dower House. You must come for tea very soon after we return to Yorkshire."

"I shall be sure to write to you on this fine stationary, Edith. Thank you for the lovely gift."

"I have not had one of these cigars in over three years, my dearest girl. You chose these yourself? I am very impressed. You've not taken up smoking in my absence, have you?"

The rest of the day, the young ladies could barely contain their energy. The weather was poor so they were confined to Painswick Place. They played at pirates and mermaids most of the morning and afternoon, chasing Lady Rosamund's poor chamber maids from room to room. Cora only convinced them to take a nap by reminding them that they might well be up past midnight this evening.

Carson had spent a relatively quiet and enjoyable day sorting and packing His Lordship's clothing. It was simple work, but there was a large volume of things to be gone through. Everything from Africa had been thoroughly cleaned, evaluated and repaired as needed. Lord Grantham's batman had done an admirable job of keeping things in very fine condition, Carson noted.

The packing was almost done when Carson heard Lord Grantham clear his throat just behind him. "Is it time to change already, My Lord?" The family would be eating a light supper before going to the theatre this evening. Carson had not been sure if there would be a changing gong today. Surely, he had not lost such track of the time. He checked his watch. It was only one fifteen.

"No, Carson. I am unwell. I thought I might lie down for a while."

Carson searched His Lordship's face for signs of fever or illness. He found none. Of course, it was possible that Lord Grantham was under the weather, but Carson suspected that he simply could not face the prospect of attending the theatre. His Lordship had displayed a strong aversion to crowds and society in the few days he had been in London.

"Hopefully, a rest will fortify you for this evening, My Lord."

"Hopefully." Lord Grantham did not sound hopeful.

"The young ladies will be very disappointed if you are not part of the evening."

"That is doubtful." Robert pouted. "Come wake me at five and I'll decide then."

"Yes, My Lord."

-00-

Cora was beyond peeved. _How dare Robert do this to the girls?_ Part of her was sympathetic to Robert's predicament. She knew how dreadfully homesick he was and she could admit that it was cruel of them to allow him so close, and then ask him to wait four more days. Every night since his return he had practically begged to return to Downton. He'd said they could come back just for the play, but she had pointed out how difficult that would be with the girls. Every morning she half expected to find his side of the bed empty but for a note reading, 'Gone to Downton.'

But it was not fair to ask the girls or Rosamund to understand this. Cora held out very little hope that Robert would be recovered enough to attend supper, let alone the play.

"And what if he is not feeling better by six?" Cora asked, exasperated.

"We can go without him." Rosamund suggested.

"I cannot possibly be expected to watch after all three girls without Robert there. Miss Randall is not available and you and Marmaduke are near useless with the children. No offense, Rosamund."

"Absolutely none taken." Lady Rosamund said, sincerely. "Perhaps Mama might come along after all."

"Ha!" was Cora's only response to that suggestion. Adding Violet would be like adding another child to the outing, a strong willed child who did not want to be there. There really was only one solution, but Cora felt they had asked too much of Carson already on this trip. If she were being honest, she'd been asking too much of him for the past two years. But it was his own fault, in a way. He was too reliable and had never complained. "It has to be Carson."

"That is unheard of, Cora. Bringing a servant who is not the nanny with you to a play is simply not done. You cannot possibly be serious."

"I might be able to take Mary with me, but it would break Edith and Sybil's hearts to be left out. In that case, it would be best if none of us went."

"But that would leave me with the box half empty and it will look as though I don't have enough friends to fill a theatre box for the most coveted show of the year."

"I must confess, Rosamund, that had not entered into my thinking." Cora said, unsympathetically. "Would you please send Anders to summon Carson?"

"Are you sure, Cora. Is there no other way?"

"None that I can think of. Carson will be very well behaved, Rosamund, I assure you."

Carson was sitting patiently in the servant's hall, awaiting the summons he had been expecting since his encounter with Lord Grantham. "MR. GRAN…"

"I'M COMING, MR. ANDERS!" Carson shouted the old butler down. He should have felt ashamed to do something so juvenile, but it felt wonderful.

Upon arriving in the drawing room, Carson's better nature was appealed to yet again. The plan was to hope that Lord Grantham would attend the play, but if not, Carson would accompany the family. "I know we are asking so much of you this week, Carson, but I like to think you'll enjoy the play."

"I am sure I would, My Lady, but is it not unusual for a male servant to attend theatre with the family?"

"That is what I said." Lady Rosamund concurred.

"Let me worry about that, Carson." Cora assured him. "It cannot be helped."

Rosamund was still not happy with the plan. "Don't speak to anyone, Carson. If anyone asks, we'll say you are a distant relation from Russia or something."

"Transylvanian Count, perhaps?" Cora teased. "There will be plenty of families there with children and governesses, Rosamund. Why can we not just say he is the children's governess? Or would that be governor? What is the proper term, Carson."

"I believe I would be considered a tutor, My Lady." Carson replied flatly.

Cora bit back a smile, his humor was so droll and often snuck up on her. "There. What is the lesser evil socially, Rosamund? Bringing a tutor or a butler?"

"A cousin from Prague, perhaps?" Rosamund offered desperately.

Finally, Lady Cora had enough of Rosamund's snobbery. Rather testily, she said, "Carson will be fine, Rosamund. We can just say he is related to Marmaduke and no one will expect him to speak at all." To deflect Rosamund's glare from Carson, Cora changed the subject to something equally offensive to her sister-in-law. "I thought I would wear my new gloves this evening."

Overcome, Rosamund left the room in a huff. This evening had been intended as a treat for her nieces but was quickly becoming a nightmare for herself.

As expected, Lord Grantham was not feeling any better when five o'clock rolled around. He put on his dressing gown and came to see the girls in their room. Robert was truly remorseful, but he knew he could not face such a frivolous evening. He gave them each six pence to spend on treats after the play and apologized for missing the evening. Being children, they accepted his apology without hesitation or suspicion. Mary might have sensed the relief from her father at not having to go to the play, but she understood. She was beginning to miss home as well and she had been gone for less than a week.

Just as he was leaving his room, having changed into his tails, Carson was met by one of the Painswick Place hall boys. Thankfully, this hall boy was not stupid and did not suffer under the illusion of Carson's deafness. "This letter came for you yesterday, Mr. Grantham. It's been on Mr. Anders' desk."

"Thank you, Padraig." Carson replied with a forced calmness. _It has to be from her._ He was tempted to return at once to his room and read his letter, but he heard the bells in the servant's hall begin to ring. One of those would be a summons for him. He dashed back to his room and placed the envelope on the corner of the dresser. He did not wish to read the letter in public nor did he think he could endure the distraction of feeling it in his pocket all evening.

A brief cab ride later, the family group gained their seats in the Duke of York's Theatre with minimal complications. Only one person had made a comment about Lady Rosamund appearing to have hired a body guard for her jewelry. Beyond that, the only notice anyone made of the family was to observe Lady Grantham's bold fuchsia gloves with admiration.

Once the houselights went down, everyone in the theatre, child and adult alike, sat mesmerized by the bizarre goings on happening on the stage; a lost shadow, a canine governess and flying children. During intermission, Carson remained in the box with the girls and some chocolates while Cora, Rosamund and Marmaduke circulated amongst London's elite with their cocktails. Across the theatre, another box was full of children; four boys to be exact. A woman and a man sat with them. Edith noticed that the man looked familiar.

"Look, Carson! It's Duke's Papa! And what a large human family he has too."

Before Carson could stop her, Sybil had called out across the mostly empty theatre. "Hello!" She waved frantically, willing him to recognize her. The boys in the box waved back, just to be friendly. Finally, Duke's Papa did recognize the three girls and their butler and he waved back, smiling kindly to them all.

Satisfied, Sybil went back to folding little shapes out of her program pages until her mother, aunt and uncle returned.

"Such a press of people out there! It's exactly the event that was promised." Rosamund beamed, very happy in her element.

The final Acts were bloodier and sillier than any of the adults had expected; children killing pirates, hungry crocodiles, clapping to save a fairy's life and a man in a kennel. The children loved every moment. Both Edith and Sybil had jumped to their feet to clap for Tinkerbell's life.

Carson watched the box of young boys opposite them with some curiosity. The man and woman had been joined by two more women and another man as the second half of the play had opened. The boys were nearly as ecstatic about the play as the Crawley girls.

Finally, the stage went dark for the final time and the crowd roared its approval. The happy performers took their bows. Calls came for the author to take his bow. Not entirely surprising to Carson, Duke's Papa strode proudly onto the stage wearing the same mischievous smile he'd worn in Kensington Gardens the day before.

"Oh, Carson. Duke's Papa is Mr. Barrie!" Lady Mary exclaimed.

"It would appear so, My Lady."

"What's this?" Lady Grantham asked.

"We met Mr. Barrie and his dog, Duke, in the gardens yesterday. He introduced himself as Duke's Papa."

"Goodness, Carson. I did not know you moved in such literary circles."

"I do not, My Lady. It was the young ladies who made the acquaintance and I would say they were less moving in literary circles than running in literal circles."

Lady Edith and Lady Mary laughed at this bit of unexpected wit from their butler.

TBC…

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**A/N I know Chelsie readers are super smart, so I know the Barrie reveal wasn't much of a surprise. We'll see what we can do about surprising you some other way...Sorry to defer the letter yet again, but the time is not right.  
**

**Please review if you've the time, your comments challenge me and I appreciate them very much. Thanks.**


	14. Ch14: Mr Smee

**Chapter 14: Mr. Smee**

Having navigated the evening without incident, Lady Rosamund was feeling very chipper as they left the theatre. She was consulting with Lady Edith on the best way to spend her six pence as they approached the busy cluster of food and beverage vendors. Several panhandlers stood at a respectful distance, holding out hats or hands or cups. Sybil, Edith and Mary each bought a Chelsea Bun, as Carson had recommended the night before. They were very large and sticky and still warm with large currants between the rolls of the bun.

The group wandered towards the beverage carts, as the girls enjoyed their treats and contemplated the merits of cider versus cocoa versus tea. A light mist was beginning to fall, but the warmth of the food and drinks were worth the little inconvenience. And the warm hearth of home was only a short cab ride away.

"Charlie! Charlie Carson!"

Carson took a fortifying breath before turning towards the familiar voice. He smiled genuinely. "Paul. I should have expected to see you here. Anywhere there's a crowd…"

"You'll find me there. I almost look posh enough to be one of them tonight." He twirled, showing off his coat.

"Carson?" Cora had left the girls with Rosamund and Marmaduke. "Do you know this man?"

"Yes, My Lady. This is Mr. Paul Farrimond. Paul, this is Lady Grantham."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Farrimond." Lady Grantham extended her gloved hand. Taken a bit aback, Paul hesitated, but then quickly took her hand and kissed it gallantly.

"My Lady."

It was now Cora's turn to be startled. The man's hands were filthy and there was a definite smell of stale wine coming from him. Initially, she had only seen his friendly greeting from Carson and registered his fine coat. Now she looked more closely.

"Would you excuse us for a moment, Mr. Farrimond?"

"Certainly, My Lady."

"Carson. Is that His Lordship's old coat?" She had seen the familiar thread work on the left lapel, a repair from over four years ago. It was subtle and no one who did not know it was there would have seen it. Cora had noticed it immediately.

"Yes, My Lady. It would not fit me and I knew that Paul…that is, Mr. Farrimond could use it. You recognized the coat, but do you not recognize _him_, My Lady?"

Cora smiled back at the man and looked at his features. Realization sunk in. "He's the local drunk near Grantham House. We give him a farthing every Sunday during the Season."

"That is correct, My Lady."

"I was not aware that you were acquainted with him."

"The Landlord at the Blackbird looks after him. He frequents the pub and I see him often on my half days."

"I cannot say I approve of such acquaintance, Carson. Charity is one thing, but…"

"But befriending him like a regular person is going too far?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. This whole week, he'd been pushed out of his normal role as butler and had felt, at times, more like a member of the family. "I am sorry, My Lady. I should not have spoken so."

"No, Carson. You are perfectly right. I am the one who should be ashamed. Please, take your time with your friend; we shall be over here when you are done." She smiled at Paul and then returned to her family. "Good evening to you, Mr. Farrimond."

"Thank you, My Lady." He bowed slightly as she headed back to the girls with their aunt and uncle.

"Were the Christmas crowds generous this year, Paul?"

"They always are."

"And tonight's crowd?"

"Not too bad. It's ironic that I'm getting more attention and money in this nice coat than in my old, dingy coat. I think they don't realize they should be avoiding me until it is too late." He gave a soft chuckle and Carson smelled a fresh wave of alcohol on his breath. "The young ladies are growing so fast. Couldn't I meet them, Charlie?"

"You've been drinking, Paul. I can't introduce them to you like this. Maybe this next Season, if you can stay sober for one Sunday, Her Ladyship will let you meet them properly. It really isn't my choice."

"I understand, Charlie. The youngest looks like my Becky."

"Then you were a very lucky man."

"I was."

The drizzle was falling more heavily now. Charles noticed the droplets gathering in Paul's thin grey hair. Cora and the girls watched Carson speaking closely with the beggar.

"But, Mama, why can't we meet Carson's friend?" Sybil wanted to know.

Cora wasn't sure how to explain it to her gently. Rosamund saved her the trouble. "Because he is a filthy bum, Sybil. One may give them money, but one does not meet them."

"What is a bum?" Edith wondered.

"Well, a bum…"

"Thank you, Rosamund." Cora interrupted. "I shall handle things from here." She turned back to the girls and thought briefly.

"Bum is an uncouth word for someone who is out of work." Cora told the girls. "I never want to hear you using that term."

"But what do we call him? And why is he here?" Mary wanted to know.

"He is here asking for charity, so, for tonight, we could call him a beggar. If you must address him directly, his name is Mr. Farrimond."

"Did you say 'Farrimond'?" Everyone was startled to realize that it was Marmaduke who had spoken. Cora nodded her affirmative. "Poor sod." Marmaduke said, cryptically.

As they watched, Carson handed the man his hat. It looked as though Paul tried to refuse, but Carson insisted, going so far as to place the hat on Paul's head himself.

This act of kindness stirred something in Sybil. "Do you think Mr. Farrimond is hungry, Mama?" Sybil looked down at her Chelsea bun. She'd only taken a few bites. She was saving most of it to go with her cocoa.

"I imagine he is, dearest."

"I should like for him to have my pastry."

"That is very kind, but shouldn't you like to finish it yourself?" Sybil shook her head, but her mother and sisters could tell she would like that very much.

"You may have half of mine, Sybil." Edith offered, to her mother's surprise. Edith tore off a large piece of her treat, far more than half and held it to Sybil.

Smiling broadly, Sybil asked Edith to please wait for a bit. Before Cora knew better or could stop her, Sybil ran over to Mr. Carson and Mr. Farrimond. Carson was startled at first, but then Cora could see he was making proper introductions. The girl handed over her Chelsea bun and the beggar bowed gratefully.

"Oh, my God." Rosamund cringed as Sybil took Mr. Farrimond's filthy hand and began to pull him over to meet her sisters. Rosamund looked about, fearing she might see someone she knew. Carson looked to Lady Grantham for guidance, ready to interfere, but Cora was smiling with tears in her eyes and beckoned them over.

"Mr. Farrimond, these are my sisters, Lady Mary and Lady Edith." He bowed to them in turn. They each acknowledged him with a nod. Mary popped the last morsel of her Chelsea bun into her mouth and wiped the corners of her mouth with her fingers delicately. Edith was still holding the larger half of her bun out for Sybil, who finally accepted it. "And this is my Aunt Rosamund and her husband, Mr. Painswick."

In a night full of surprises, perhaps the greatest was Marmaduke striding forward and shaking Paul's hand as though they were old friends. "How do you do, Mr. Farrimond?"

"I find myself remarkably well, this evening." Paul answered truthfully.

Carson offered Lady Grantham his handkerchief. "No, Carson, I believe I am alright."

"Trust me, My Lady." Carson insisted. He had seen something Lady Grantham had not and he knew what was about to happen. Cora took the handkerchief, looking confused.

"Mr. Farrimond? Would you care for something to drink with your pastry?" Mary had reached the front of the beverage cart line and had purchased a large, hot cider. She offered it to Paul now, holding the steaming tin cup to him.

Overwhelmed, Paul only nodded and accepted the drink. Cora took Carson's handkerchief and turned away from the scene briefly. Paul drank the cider and enjoyed the pastry as the girls watched, Sybil and Edith now enjoying their food as well. When the cider was gone, Paul handed the cup back to Mary, who returned it to the beverage vendor.

Paul had recovered himself somewhat. "I must say, this has been quite a Christmas for me. It was a very great pleasure meeting you all properly. Please, do say hello when you come back for the Season. I should leave you now." He tipped Carson's hat to them all and turned to take his leave.

"Mr. Farrimond." Marmaduke stopped him. "I've received a new pair of gloves this Christmas and I would like for you to have these old ones, if you would accept them. I notice you have none and it shall be a very cold night."

Paul hesitated. He looked at Charles, who smiled and shrugged a 'why not?' "Thank you, Mr. Painswick. I would be honored to accept your gloves."

Edith, ever the observant one, was confused. "But those are the new…"

"Shush, child." Rosamund told her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It doesn't matter." Despite herself, Rosamund was rather proud of her husband as well as her nieces.

"Well, a Happy Holidays to you all. I've always said that them that live at Grantham House are the most generous folk in London; upstairs and down. And tonight has proven me right." With that, Mr. Farrimond did turn and walk away. Carson walked a little ways with him.

"Say a 'hello' to Jack for me, Paul. I hope his missus forgave him for the frying pan."

"She did, but I suspect the ring he bought her had something to do with it. See you in the spring, Charlie."

"In the spring, Paul."

When Carson returned to the Ladies and Marmaduke, Lady Grantham was mostly recovered. "What an evening!" She exclaimed. "I am so proud of you girls. You have very generous instincts and, what is more, you have the strength to act upon those instincts. I cannot even say how pleased I am. I could almost burst with pride."

"Oh, dear! We don't want any bursting, do we?" A familiar Scottish brogue exclaimed.

"Duke's Papa!" Sybil cried. "But where is Duke?" She looked about as though she expected the dog to jump out of one of the food carts.

"They do not allow dogs into the theatre, unless they are to be on stage."

"Mr. Barrie. You deceived us yesterday." Carson scolded kindly as the man approached.

"I hope you will forgive me, Mr. Carson. I do not like to broadcast who I am when I am in the gardens."

"That is understandable." Carson allowed. "I take it that The Little White Bird is not as accurate as I was led to believe. Was there ever a Saint Bernard?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, Porthos died just over a year ago. I could not bring myself to replace him, but my friends bought me Duke, who could not be more different."

"I am sorry to hear about Porthos, but you've immortalized him in two works of literature, which is a lovely memorial."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. I like to think that is so." A tall and beautiful woman approached them, smiling reservedly. _She could teach Lady Rosamund a thing or two about looking down one's nose at people_, Carson thought.

"Mr. Carson, my dear young ladies, this is my wife, Mrs. Barrie. Mary dear, this is the extraordinary family I was telling you about; that use their butler as a nanny."

"That is almost as odd as a dog for a nanny." The woman observed cooly. "You are correct, he is quite like Porthos."

Mr. Barrie was a little abashed at this, but he hurried forward. "I did say you reminded me of Porthos. I did say that, because you are a rather large man and deceptively gentle and good with the children. I hope you are not offended."

"Not in the least." Carson assured him. "Porthos is my favorite character from your novel. I should be honored to be compared to him. Though, I should like it noted that, were I to eat a toy soldier, I would remember it."

Mr. Barrie laughed delightedly at this and clapped his hands like an excited child.

"Lady Mary, would you care to introduce Mr. Barrie and his wife to your family?" Carson prodded.

Mary did an admirable job of making all the introductions. Rosamund was near speechless. The events of this night had confused her, no end.

Seeing her bewilderment, Carson attempted to draw Rosamund into the conversation. "Lady Rosamund is the architect of this evening. It was she who sent your play and novel to the girls and it was she who secured our seats this evening."

"No small feat, Lady Rosamund. I was almost unable to attend myself." Mr. Barrie joked before turning from the still mute Rosamund to Cora and the girls. "We are holding a salon next week at the Llewelyn Davies'. The boys will be there, the ones you saw in the box tonight. It would be a treat if the young ladies could come. Mrs. Llewelyn Davies' brother, Mr. Gerald du Maurier will be there. Though you would know him better as 'Captain Hook'."

"It is kind of you to offer, but we are headed back to Yorkshire tomorrow." Cora explained. Rosamund gave her a wide eyed look. "We were only staying with Lady Rosamund and Mr. Painswick for the holiday and in order to attend tonight."

"Well, Lady Rosamund and Mr. Painswick would be welcome to come in your stead. I shall have an invitation sent."

"Number 81 Onslow Square." Rosamund offered quickly, finding her voice and nudging Marmaduke, who produced a card almost from thin air.

"Dear, we must be off now." Mrs. Barrie reminded him, a disingenuous smile on her face.

"Yes, yes, of course, dear. It has been a very great pleasure Ladies. Duke will be sorry not to see you in the gardens tomorrow. Good night."

"Good night, Mr. Barrie." The girls intoned in unison.

As the author and his wife walked away, Rosamund could not help but ask in an exasperated voice, "Goodness, Carson, whom shall you introduce us too next? It must either be a street sweeper or the Archbishop of Canterbury."

At the beginning, the cab ride home was filled with the girls recollecting to the adults all the exciting things that had happened that evening. None of the adults had the energy or inclination to remind the young ladies that it was unnecessary to recount events to people who had witnessed them.

Though the distance was short, the girls excitement had begun to turn to exhaustion well before they reached Onslow Square. The adults were able to converse now and Rosamund had something she felt she needed to say in front of the girls.

"Carson, I believe I owe you an apology. I was very rude to you about attending this evening, but, as always, you've proven yourself to be an asset in almost every situation."

Carson was too astonished to reply, so Cora stepped in to assist her butler. "A good butler must be comfortable with all levels of society, Rosamund. And Carson is not just a good butler, he is the best butler."

Now, Carson was embarrassed beyond words. He nodded noncommittally and managed to say, "Thank you, My Lady. There is no need for apologies."

Satisfied with this, Rosamund moved quickly on to trying to convince Cora to stay for the salon at the Llewelyn Davies'.

"It will be a huge social boost for the girls"

"Yes, and for you no doubt, but we really must get home. Robert has been very generous to wait this long, but we need to go home tomorrow."

"You could leave the girls and Miss Randall with me."

"Thank you, Rosamund, but we will be returning home as a family. It is important."

"It is a shame that the girls will miss out on meeting Captain Hook."

"We have our own Captain Hook." Lady Sybil said sleepily, wrapping her arms around Carson's arm and leaning against him. He looked up at Lady Grantham, his eyes asking if he should shift the dozing child. She shook her head. They would be back at Onslow Square soon enough.

Shortly, the cab stopped in front of Number 81 and disgorged its occupants. As Marmaduke paid the driver, Carson, Rosamund and Cora removed the sleeping girls. Marmaduke came back and took Edith from Cora. Rosamund carried Sybil up the stairs after her husband, leaving Cora, Carson and Mary, asleep in Carson's arms, at the curb.

"I cannot thank you enough for tonight, Carson. Indeed, for all you've done for the family, especially with His Lordship away."

"It is my pleasure, My Lady."

"I hope he'll be happier once we get back to Downton."

"I am sure he will be, My Lady. We must just give him some time."

She choked up a little and nodded. She blotted her eyes with his handkerchief, which she still had.

"I never knew you were such an Ebenezer, Carson." Lady Grantham teased him lightly, still sniffling.

"Scrooge, My Lady? I am not sure I deserve that." But he did not sound offended.

"I meant Scrooge after the visitations; a man who will 'honor Christmas in his heart, and try to keep it all the year."

"I don't deserve that, either, My Lady, but I thank you for the compliment."

Finally composed, she refolded the small silk square and placed it in the breast pocket of his coat, her hands resting on his chest for a fraction of a second longer than they should. She knew it was selfish of her to continue to draw strength from this man. Her husband was home now. She must stop relying upon her butler. She had become so used to doing so in the past two years, it felt natural. From here on, she knew she must rely upon Robert for support. In a way, this was goodbye between them. In a way, they both knew it.

From the window of the first floor drawing room, Lord Grantham watched this scene unfold. From a second floor window, Miss O'Brien watched as well.

-00-

Finally, as the clocks passed midnight, Charles retired to his little room at Painswick Place. The day had been exhausting, even more so than his shopping expeditions. He forced himself to change from his tails into his pajamas and to brush his teeth before sitting on the edge of the bed and opening the letter.

The address was written in a disjointed hand that did not look at all like Elsie's. The writer had alternated between cursive and print, but he told himself the cursive looked like her hand. Perhaps she had been very tired when she had written.

Dismissing these thoughts, he ran his pen knife along the letter's seal and unfolded the small sheet of paper.

_Dear Mr. Carson, _

_I have never written you before and must confess myself quite nervous, but you did ask if there was anything I wanted from London and I have thought of something. I cannot know if this will reach you before you leave London, but I have decided to take the risk and trust Fate to decide if and when this letter should reach you…._

TBC…

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**A/N I know I have not yet resolved The Letter or The Gift but we can't address either of those until we get back to Downton and Elsie. Now that the play is over, we shall be doing exactly that. The longer I've teased you, the more I think you are all expecting from the reveals. I hope you are not disappointed. **

**I feel like someone who is juggling running chainsaws; the payoff is either going to be totally awesome, or totally gruesome. **

**As always, reviews are much appreciated.**


	15. Ch15: Second To the Right

**Chapter 15: Second To the Right. **

On the night of December 27th, Elsie Hughes did not sleep a wink. At least three times, she actually got out of bed and began packing. No matter what Mr. Carson's feelings for her may be, it was highly likely that she was spending her last night under the roof of Downton Abbey. She had done what she had sworn she would not; she had broken her unspoken promise to him; her promise to be content merely being his confidant and best friend. But it was a promise that her heart could not keep; at least, not after a full bottle of wine.

Around three in the morning, Elsie abandoned all hope of rest. She dressed for her day and headed downstairs. She walked through the kitchen and the servant's hall feeling an unfamiliar sense of nostalgia and regret. Elsie Hughes was not a woman who dwelled on the past or wallowed in regrets. Elsie had left other jobs before, in the course of her career. She had even left Downton before, to work for Lady Rosamund for a time. Always, Elsie had seen these changes as opportunities; focusing on the hellos rather than the goodbyes. She had left family and good friendships behind in the past, but she had never felt like this. She had not even felt this way when she left her own childhood home to begin work as a live in servant.

If she was being honest, the nearest she'd ever come to feeling like this was when she had broken things off with Joe. While she hadn't really loved Joe, he had been comfortable and familiar and it had been difficult to give that up. But mostly, she had lamented the life she would not have. Perhaps she might have married, if she'd met the right man at the right time, instead of now. Leaving now meant leaving the only person in her life who had ever made her feel valued and understood.

The past few days had been a maelstrom of feelings for Elsie, ranging from blissfully accepting of her fate to near suicidal with humiliation. In one moment, she would think, _Why not? Things might actually work out_. The very next moment, she would be berating herself for her stupidity; for ruining everything. She was unsure of how to feel or what to do in the Purgatory she had created for herself. Standing now, in the darkened servant's hall, Elsie decided that she would not be a passive participant in her own life. The words she had written were true. Ill-advised and inappropriate, but true. She would not be ashamed of the letter, she would embrace her drunken error and, if there were any way it could be achieved, she would turn that error to her advantage.

Mrs. Hughes went to her sitting room and quickly found what she was looking for. She marched into the butler's pantry and stood before his vacant desk. _Well, lass, you called the tune. Now it's time to pay the piper_. She placed the small, silver thimble in the middle of his desk with a steady hand. Her heart was in his hands now. He would either accept it or crush it, there was no middle ground.

-00-

Charles Carson was as agitated as he had ever been in his life. From the moment, at six ten in the morning, when His Lordship had announced his intention of taking the 8:40 train rather than the 10:55 train, nothing had gone to plan. Lady Grantham had appeared to take the development in stride, but Miss O'Brien was grousing about the change of plans on her behalf. Finally, Mr. Carson had enough of her grumbling and dragging her feet and threatened to come in and pack Her Ladyship's clothing himself. He would never raise his voice to a woman, but he didn't need to yell to make his displeasure known. Miss O'Brien heard the anger in his voice and reluctantly picked up the pace of her packing.

Miss Randall was still sick, so the Herculean task of waking, feeding and dressing the girls was left almost entirely to Lady Grantham and a few of Rosamund's unfortunate maids. Carson helped herd the children as best he could, but he was mainly concerned with the luggage. Children had minds and feet of their own and Lady Grantham would not possibly leave one of the girls behind, he reasoned. The luggage, on the other hand, would not handle itself. Matters were not improved by everyone in the downstairs still insisting on screaming their words at the man they assumed to be near deaf.

Carson's mind was preoccupied with lists of things he must do to prepare for the family's departure. Even so, he noted that His Lordship was out of sorts this morning as Carson finished dressing him. Shouldn't Lord Grantham be excited to be returning home? This melancholy turn worried Carson, but there was nothing he could do now. There was far too much else to be done and precious little time.

This was not the homecoming he had envisioned for His Lordship. The household at Downton would not be expecting the family until after one, but the reality was they would be arriving before eleven. There would be no luncheon prepared and no carriages waiting at the station for the family. The family and the luggage would arrive together unanticipated with only wagons to greet them. It was going to be chaos and Charles Carson could not abide chaos. Out of desperation, Carson had sent Padraig to the wire office to send a hasty message to Downton, with only the slimmest hope it would be delivered to Downton before the family arrived.

By some miracle, the entire Downton family were packed and loaded onto the 8:40 train bound north. The Dowager Countess was staying with Rosamund for a few days more, not so much because she liked London but because she wished to avoid the insanity she knew would accompany the family's return to Downton. She did come down to the drawing room to see the family off.

The only upside to the morning's frantic activity was that Carson had no time to consider the Mrs. Hughes situation. His first loyalty was to the family and he would fulfill that duty before considering more selfish matters. Even on the train, he had to coordinate luggage transfer with the on board porter before finding a third class compartment for himself.

Though, in his head, he was still planning the final details of their Downton arrival, Carson could not keep his mind from racing to her. Their arrival and her introduction to Lord Grantham worried him. Carson was resolved not to make any eye contact with her or to speak to her any more than was absolutely necessary to achieve the best welcome home they could muster at such short notice. He knew she would be professional in front of His Lordship. It was his own behavior that he doubted under Lord Grantham's watchful eye. Carson feared even one look would be enough to have her sacked. But there was so much about which he wanted to talk to her.

Why was he feeling this way about a woman? Why now in his life? How could it be he had escaped the pitfalls of youth to reach middle age unscathed and unencumbered, only to fall now? His favorite line from The Little White Bird came back to him as he imagined her smiling face and graceful figure. '_The world must have rung with gallant deeds and grown lovely thoughts for numberless centuries before she could be;'_

Such beauty and perfection could not be achieved or appreciated by youth. The world had grown mature and ripe, as had he. Ages of chivalry and daring deeds had proven humanity worthy; had proven him worthy. She was the culmination of, the reward for, every positive thought in his life. Finally, Charles Carson was ready to love.

He had underlined the words. Had she known as she read them that they had made him think of her? Would she believe such a silly sentiment from the grumpy butler that she knew? As the train flew north, he forgot to feel anxious. How could one ever fear coming home?

-00-

"You should eat something, Robert. Who knows when we'll get the chance once we reach Downton. Mrs. Patmore will not have expected us until tea." A sick Miss Randall and very grumpy Miss O'Brien were sitting in the next compartment over, as the girls ate cold sandwiches from the food trolley.

"I am not hungry." Robert said shortly. "But don't let me stop you. I should hate to be an inconvenience."

"What on earth do you mean by that?" Cora had been perplexed by his behavior all morning. His tone was petulant. She thought he'd be ecstatic to be finally headed back to Downton. If he was upset with the hurried chaos of their departure, he had no right to be. It was his decision to leave early that had caused the madness. "What is going on, Robert? Are you still not feeling well?"

"I am just afraid that I shall find Downton much altered upon my return."

"Altered? As if Carson would let such a thing happen." Cora laughed, hoping to cheer Robert up, but her comment seemed to have the opposite effect. Still unsure, Cora ploughed ahead, trying to find a topic that might distract him. "However did your family end up with Carson, anyway?"

"His grandfather was head groomsman." Robert snapped. She already knew about Carson's past at Downton. Why did she want to talk about the very subject that vexed him most?

"Well, the man has been an absolute rock for us in your absence, my dear. We really don't pay him enough, Robert."

"The man wouldn't know what to do with money. I gave him ten pounds for Christmas and he came back with a gift for the new housekeeper."

"That sounds like him. Just because his instinct is to give it away or use it for others does not mean he doesn't know what to do with money. Quite the opposite, I should say."

"If anyone were to give Carson a substantial amount of money, he would try to give it all away as quickly as possible."

"I will not disagree with you, but I think that is an admirable thing. Do you know he gave your old winter coat to a beggar?"

"To a beggar?"

"Not just a random tramp, but the one who greets us every Sunday during the Season. Do you remember him?"

"I think so. Is it always the same man?"

"Yes, Robert. He's been there for years, even before you went away. Apparently, he lives at the Blackbird Tavern and his name is Mr. Farrimond."

This did catch Robert's attention. "Farrimond? Paul Farrimond?"

"I believe that was what Carson called him. Do you know him? Marmaduke seemed to know him, but I never had the chance to ask him."

"I do not know him personally. It was all in the papers, must have been seven or eight years ago." Robert tried to remember. "I think Marmaduke's bank was involved."

"What was in the papers?"

"The fire. A whole city block, his factory, his home. Farrimond was away on business. Apparently a boiler exploded in the middle of the night; wasn't shutdown properly. His wife, children, grandchildren were all overcome by the smoke. None of them survived."

"How terrible."

"The last story I read about him, he had used the insurance to rebuild the factory and had signed the business over to the employees. Then, he disappeared."

"Goodness. Well, apparently, he's been trying to drink himself to death ever since. And in our corner of London."

"You say Carson has befriended him?"

"They're on a first name basis. He called Carson 'Charlie'. If I hadn't been so shocked, I'd have laughed. On top of your coat, Carson gave Mr. Farrimond his bowler."

That couldn't be right. Carson never left the house without his hat. "Then what was he wearing this morning?"

"Didn't you notice that Carson wasn't wearing a hat this morning?"

"No. If I did notice, I must have thought he had lost it in the confusion of packing."

"Does that seem likely?"

"No."

"He gave Mr. Farrimond his hat last night because it was raining. Just before the girls gave him a pastry and cider, like I told you. So much happened last night, I forgot to mention that detail."

"That is not the only detail you forgot to mention, my dear." Robert was done listening to how wonderful Mr. Carson was.

"What do you mean?"

"Carson's built quite the harem while I've been away; the new housekeeper, you and God knows who else."

"Mrs. Hughes? Me? What are you talking about, Robert? I demand that you make sense this instant!"

"I saw you last night, by the curb. You were touching his chest!"

"I was returning his handkerchief!" Cora exclaimed, shocked by what she was hearing. "I would be livid at you for spying, but, since it was all perfectly innocent and on a public street, it doesn't really qualify as spying."

But Cora had flushed a little at the accusation and Robert had seen it. It wasn't perfectly innocent and they both knew it. "I don't believe you." He said, flatly.

Cora stood and stormed out of the compartment. Seconds later, she returned, dragging a confused Miss O'Brien behind her. "Here!" Cora yelled, practically throwing the maid at her husband. "You want to spy? Do it correctly! Miss O'Brien, my husband would like to know if you have seen anything suspicious between myself and any male members of the staff."

"My Lady?" Miss O'Brien was trying to get her feet underneath her, figuratively and literally.

"I order you to tell him anything you might have seen that could be construed as suspicious between myself and any men in his absence." Cora said confidently.

"Are you sure, My Lady?" O'Brien raised her eyebrows. What were Lord and Lady Grantham playing at?

Cora's confidence faltered. Did O'Brien honestly think she had something to tell? But Cora had come this far. "Yes, O'Brien, absolutely anything."

"Well…" This felt like a trap to Miss O'Brien, but if she denied seeing anything now, she would not be able to claim to have seen anything later. It seemed like a shame to have to surrender her information for nothing, but she could not risk offending Lady Grantham. Maybe she could stir a little trouble with the little that she had. Reluctantly, she tested the waters. "I did see you and Mr. Carson…last night, after the cab arrived."

"By the curb? Yes, that's old news and was perfectly innocent." Cora dismissed her observation. "I mean anything else."

"Well…"

Cora and Robert both stared at O'Brien, awaiting the next syllable that would fall from her lips. Holding them in her power like this was intoxicating. These rich toffs thought they were better than her. Enjoying the game, Sarah O'Brien stretched the moment for as long as she could. "There was the day of the telegram, My Lady."

Cora sighed with relief, but Robert sat more on the edge of his seat. "What telegram?"

O'Brien looked to Cora for permission, which was quickly granted. "The telegram that announced that you had been injured and would be coming home soon."

"Ha! Soon? It was five months!" Cora scoffed.

"You don't have to tell me that, my dear." Robert reminded her, but he would not be put off. "What happened on the day of the telegram, Miss O'Brien?"

Now Miss O'Brien was walking a fine line. How could she make what she had seen sound worse than it was without Lady Grantham blaming her for the fallout? She spoke to Cora, not Robert, trying to signal where her loyalties lay, though she had no such loyalty. "When I came in to bring you a shawl, My Lady, I found Mr. Carson holding you in his arms."

"WHAT?!" Robert bolted to his feet.

"There's a logical explanation, Robert. You must wait for the full story." Even Cora had to admit it sounded bad when you stated it like that. "O'Brien, tell His Lordship the whole story. Do sit down, dear."

"Don't 'dear' me. What could possibly justify our butler holding you in his arms?" Though he felt no calmer, Robert did sit back down, trying to maintain his control in front of their servant.

"Her Ladyship had fainted, My Lord." O'Brien interjected, trying to sound her most innocent. She was rather enjoying this scene. This lot could feign morals all they liked, but they were just as base as the people they lorded it over and they distrusted each other just as much.

Cora took up the narrative now. "I was so overcome by hearing you were injured that I fainted. Carson had delivered the telegram, so he was there when I did and he caught me. Mrs. Hughes was there too." Cora was frustrated to see that Robert was not listening. "Thank you, O'Brien, that will be all for now."

"My Lady." Disappointed to relinquish her front row seat, Miss O'Brien slunk out of the compartment. She walked past the young ladies compartment to go stand between the cars and have a smoke. It was not quite the mischief she'd hoped to unleash, but it had been mildly entertaining. It was a bonus for her that the argument came at the expense of Mr. Downton himself, Charles Carson.

As soon as O'Brien had left them, Robert turned to fully face his wife. "So, you're saying that Mrs. Hughes was there when you fainted?"

"No. She came into the room with Miss O'Brien, but it must have been mere moments after I'd fainted."

"You don't remember, exactly?"

"No, Robert, I do not. Fainting does affect one's sense of time." She informed him, testily.

"I wouldn't know." He snapped back.

Cora knew it would be a close call to name who Robert trusted more, Carson or herself. If she remained calm, Robert would accept what he must already know to be true. She took a deep breath and tried to reason with him. "Robert, the past three years have been difficult for us both. You must trust that I would never be unfaithful to you. When we reach Downton, please talk to Mrs. Hughes. She will corroborate my story. Perhaps she will be able to explain the timing exactly, but, if you are determined to believe the worst, I will not be able to convince you otherwise."

"But you keep saying how invaluable Carson has been."

"And so he has been. But it was all for your sake. Carson was the one who made sure the girls wrote to you every two weeks like clockwork. It was Carson who suggested putting your picture in the nursery. After dinner, he would tell the girls stories about you learning to ride or shoot or hunt.

"I am embarrassed to admit it, but you are only real to the girls because Carson made sure that you were constantly spoken of. I missed you so terribly and speaking of you to them hurt me so deeply, I could not have kept you as a presence in our lives without Carson's help.

"You've known Carson most of your life, Robert. Why would you distrust him now?" Cora put her hand on her husband's knee and looked deep into his eyes. "If you don't trust me, at least trust him."

Robert felt ashamed. He pulled Cora into his arms. "I am so sorry, my love. I should never have doubted either of you. Please forgive me."

Cora rubbed Robert's back comfortingly. "We shall be home soon, my dear, and then we can start to rebuild our lives. I've waited so long for this day."

"_We've_ waited, my love. And the day is here. I promise that I shall be myself again, once I am in my home with my family."

They clung to each other, listening to the rhythmic sounds of the rails count off the miles to Downton.

TBC…

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**A/N I didn't mean to break here, but there it is. Those chainsaws are still flying. I promise the next update will be VERY SOON. I can't promise a second update today, but it may happen if the football games are blowouts. There will definitely be an update tomorrow and they will definitely be at Downton.  
**

**For now, I wish you all a good Turkey Day. I am thankful for my family, which indulges me and allows me time to write these stories even though they don't understand my obsession. I am thankful for my readers, who do understand. And I am especially thankful for your comments, reviews and encouragements. **


	16. Ch16: And Straight On 'Til Morning

**Chapter 16: And Straight On 'Til Morning**

The wire from London had arrived at Downton a mere thirty minutes before the train was due at the station. Elsie's composure threatened to shatter, but her professionalism kicked in and the focus calmed her. She sent to the stables to have the carriage prepared and then headed to the kitchen to talk Mrs. Patmore down from the ceiling. Word had already reached the cook of the early return. Anna and the other kitchen maids were cowering in a corner as Mrs. Patmore railed about no one understanding that meals did not just happen. "And they'll be expecting luncheon as soon as they arrive, I've no doubt!"

"I'll have Roger and Geoffrey lay out a buffet style table. All you have to do is find four or five things that we can put on the table, even if you have to send up the servant's lunch. You've only thirty minutes, Mrs. Patmore. I suggest you don't waste any of that time moaning. Or, if you must groan, do so while you find something to serve."

Mrs. Hughes' calm demeanor seemed to anger the cook further, but the fiery redhead was able to grouse and curse while she produced a lovely tray of cold cuts and cheeses to accompany the leek soup that had been intended for the servant's meal. The servant's would have to make due with left over stew from the night before and a mess of scrambled eggs. They would lose their pudding to the upstairs meal as well.

Elsie was impressed with what Mrs. Patmore had accomplished, and was about to go downstairs to tell her so when she heard the horses hooves approaching. Her stomach dropped. He was home.

The staff scrambled for the front door, running around from the servant's entrance. Elsie told a few of the maids to just use the front door. She could not believe the fools were going to run downstairs and back around the whole house rather than take the few steps out the front door. Of course, Mr. Carson would probably have insisted they do so. _Daft man. _She smiled to think of the look of indignation he would have on his face if he knew she'd allowed the maids to use the front door.

The first of the wagons carrying the family luggage passed in front of the house on its way to the courtyard to be unloaded. Mr. Carson jumped down from the still moving wagon and walked briskly towards the staff waiting at the front door. Elsie noticed that he was not wearing his hat. The journey had mussed his hair somewhat and small, dark curls showed themselves against the background of finely greased hair. It made him look less buttoned up, more natural. But Elsie couldn't let herself be distracted by that right now. He took his place beside Mrs. Hughes and turned to greet the approaching carriage.

His gaze had only grazed over her and she had been unable to meet his eye. Elsie was disappointed. She had hoped for some kind of sign from him; a smile or a wink. She understood it was better this way. If he had given her any positive sign, she was not sure she could contain her joy and neither of them would want a public scene.

Finally, the carriage stopped and Roger stepped forward to open the door. Elsie watched Lord Grantham descend from the carriage. He looked much as she remembered him, though thinner and less cheerful perhaps. His face did brighten a little as he looked up at his home; making him look more like the young man she had seen visiting Lady Rosamund. He stood staring for a moment, as if overwhelmed, but he quickly recovered. Lord Grantham turned back to help his wife and daughters out of the carriage before turning back to Downton Abbey as a family.

"Welcome home, My Lord." Carson said as the family neared the threshold. The emotion in his voice was only noticeable to Mrs. Hughes and Lord Grantham.

"Thank you, Carson. And thank you, all." He faced the staff at Carson's side and raised his voice slightly. "For taking such care of my family. I am very grateful." Robert's gaze stopped on Elsie.

"My Lord, I should like to introduce you to Mrs. Hughes."

"My Lord." Elsie executed a deep curtsey. "Welcome home. I hope you will find everything to your satisfaction."

"I am sure I shall, Mrs. Hughes. I have heard very much about you. You come highly recommended by the two sources I trust most on such things; Lady Grantham and Carson."

The family continued into the house where Roger, Carson, O'Brien, Miss Randall and Mrs. Hughes followed them. The rest of the staff scooted around the side of the house as the door was shut upon them.

"I fear we may have caught you unawares today, Mrs. Hughes." Lady Grantham apologized, removing her coat and gloves. "Our plans changed so suddenly."

"Mr. Carson's wire reached us in time, My Lady. Mrs. Patmore has prepared a light buffet if you are hungry."

Robert realized with some surprise that he _was_ hungry, though he'd given little thought to food all day. "That sounds lovely, Mrs. Hughes. The girls ate a little on the train, but Her Ladyship and I have not eaten since our rushed breakfast this morning."

"I shall see to the luggage, My Lord." Carson informed him. Roger and Geoffrey would have to wait on the family for luncheon. Carson was not properly attired. "Do you wish to bathe after luncheon?"

"Yes, Carson. That would be ideal."

With that, Mrs. Hughes watched Mr. Carson disappear through the door to the servant's stairs. He still had not addressed her directly or even looked at her properly. She was beginning to worry.

-00-

Elsie Hughes sat in the servant's hall, trying concentrate on the list of supplies Mrs. Patmore had given her. The woman really did have atrocious handwriting. She had a nasty habit of switching between printing and script. Elsie did not hear his footsteps approaching, though she was listening for them intently. _How could such a large man move so silently?_

"Mrs. Hughes, do you have a moment?"

"Certainly, Mr. Carson." She willed the tremor out of her voice, but she could not calm her beating heart. Mr. Carson had been upstairs most of the day overseeing the unpacking. Tea had been served and things were beginning to slow back down to normal speed below stairs as they were finally on the schedule they had anticipated.

Mr. Carson was once more dressed as a butler and not a valet. As she followed him into his office, he stopped before his desk, hands clasp seriously behind his back. It was his lecture stance and she recognized it at once. This did not bode well. She tried to look around him to see if her thimble still sat on his desk.

"Mrs. Hughes, I did not think that I would have to instruct you, of all people, on the evils of overindulgence." He began. "I understand that wine and strong drink can affect different people differently…"

Oh, God. This was the worst possible response. He was going to pass her letter off as a drunken indiscretion. At least he was not going to send her away, she felt sure of that, but knowing he had read her words and could so easily dismiss them hurt her deeply.

"I do not think dismissal is in order, but I am certainly reconsidering recommending Roger for the position of His Lordship's valet."

Roger's name jarred her from her thoughts. "Roger? What is this about Roger?"

"Look what he's done to my rug. I might not have noticed it if he hadn't tried to hide it with this chair." Confused, Elsie looked down at the rug before Mr. Carson's desk. Perhaps there was a stain there. It was very hard to tell.

Part of her brain was still functioning, and it answered for her, "It does not look so bad, Mr. Carson. What makes you think it was Roger?"

"I understand from some of the hall boys that both Roger and Geoffrey overdid it on Christmas. Do you think Geoffrey would have tried to hide his error?"

"No." She said, her mouth still dry.

"I must admit, Roger has done an admirable job with the stain. Red wine and…please forgive the vulgarity, bile are not easily cleaned. I think his punishment will be to deep clean this rug and any other stained rugs during the Season, on top of his other work. And I shall give Geoffrey the opportunity to serve as His Lordship's valet."

Elsie nodded absently and almost formed a word of agreement.

"Thankfully, it's already ugly enough that stains aren't readily apparent. I suppose that's how it ended up down here." He smiled at his own joke. When she did not smile back, he faltered. "Are you quite well, Mrs. Hughes?"

"You've not mentioned my letter, Mr. Carson." She managed to bravely say.

"Um…_your _letter?" He looked uncomfortable for a second, but then continued. "I cannot say that I received a letter from you, Mrs. Hughes. When did you mail it? The post is so overwhelmed this time of year. I only received Mrs. Patmore's letter yesterday, though it was posted on the twenty third."

She stared at him in disbelief. Why had he acted so strangely upon arriving if he hadn't read her letter?

"That reminds me!" He exclaimed and walked past her to the door, not noticing her stunned silence. She could see her thimble still sitting in the middle of his desk. "Mrs. Patmore! Could you please join us?"

"Yes, Mr. Carson?" The cook came in, wiping flour from her hands.

"I've brought back chocolates for the staff, as you requested. I did not get your letter in time, but Her Ladyship had already suggested the same. I will bring the boxes to you and Mrs. Hughes when they are unpacked. It was an excellent thought and I wanted to thank you."

"Well, they've worked that hard, haven't they? I thought they deserved something special."

"And you wouldn't say no to a box of toffees, yourself." He winked knowingly at Mrs. Hughes.

"That I would not, Mr. Carson." The cook confirmed before heading back to her kitchen.

Carson noticed that Mrs. Hughes was still distracted. "Not to worry about your letter, Mrs. Hughes. Mr. Anders will forward it on from Painswick Place when it arrives, I am sure."

This thought frightened her into action. "Well, there's no need to read it now that you're home. I was only asking that you bring something from the apothecary. They have a much better selection of headache powders in London."

Carson was glad to know she had written to him, even if it was only about headache powder. It would have been her first letter to him. The deeply buried sentimentalist in him still hoped that he could read this letter and keep it preserved in his box of treasured mementos. "Well, I am sorry that I missed the opportunity to help you out."

_Missed opportunity; that's it exactly._ She thought. _Though it's probably for the best._ Now, she just had to make sure she intercepted the letter before he accidentally opened it.

"Will that be all, Mr. Carson?" She did not know if what she felt was relief or disappointment. In reality, it was a mixture of both.

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes. I thought you'd like to know that His Lordship will be wanting to meet you more formally after tea."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. I look forward to meeting him properly." With a rather unconvincing display of surprise, Elsie exclaimed. "Oh, there it is!"

"There what is?" A confused Mr. Carson wanted to know. She was acting very strangely.

"My thimble. I was sewing on Christmas before we came in here to get the wine. I must have set it down." She swept it up quickly before he could notice that the thimble was sitting squarely in the center of his desk.

"A thimble?" He chuckled at the thought. "You've not read that part of the book yet, by chance? The part I mentioned in my letter?"

"No. I'm on the chapter where he is convinced the dog has become a person."

"That was a rather silly chapter, but sweet." He smiled at her, unaware of how much this simple action hurt her heart. "I have much to tell you about the play and London, though the girls have made me promise to leave out some key details."

"The girls?" Even in her suffering, Elsie could not help hearing the new level of familiarity in his tone as he spoke of the young Miss Crawleys.

"That is, Lady Sybil specifically. She wanted to tell you all about her adventures in London."

"I look forward to hearing about them."

"I'd like to tell you some of what I am authorized to tell over a glass of wine this evening, if you've the time."

Before she could answer, Anna knocked and said, "Mrs. Hughes, His Lordship is asking for you in the drawing room."

"Thank you, Anna. I shall be up directly." Raising her eyebrows in mock fear, she teased, "Time to meet the master. Wish me luck."

"You've nothing to be worried about, Mrs. Hughes, I assure you."

"Who's worried?" She winked at Mr. Carson, not knowing how much it warmed his heart.

-00-

The introductions had gone well. Lord Grantham was as easy going as Mr. Carson had described. Elsie could tell his mood was already much improved from what it had been at his initial arrival. A good meal, a bath and the familiar surroundings of home will have that effect.

Robert had been impressed by his welcome, which had been efficient and professional. He had known his insistence upon taking the early train would disrupt their plans, but he had feared for his own sanity if he remained in London one hour longer than was necessary.

With all the emotions and thoughts accompanying his arrival, Robert had not had a chance to notice much about his new housekeeper. Now, in the quiet of the drawing room and with the calm demeanor of a contented man, he considered her properly. There was no denying she was a handsome woman and rather young to be a housekeeper in such a grand house. Her eyes were keen and she had a confident way of moving and speaking.

Robert asked her some questions about her past work and was astonished that she had once been Rosamund's Lady's maid. "I thought there was a special home for the women who left that post; a recovery ward or something."

"She was a delight to work for, My Lord, but I am not of a disposition for Lady's maid. She was very understanding and supportive when I chose to return to Downton."

"Understanding? Supportive? We are talking about the same Lady Rosamund Painswick?"

"Robert, be kind." Cora scolded him lightly. His mood truly was improving exponentially with every hour he was home. He was in danger of becoming too familiar with his staff.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Hughes, I should not have spoken so." Robert said, though his eyes still twinkled mischievously. Elsie began to understand how Carson could be so devoted to this man.

"I am sure we shall all get along famously, Mrs. Hughes. My dear, did you not have something for Mrs. Hughes?" Lord Grantham prompted Lady Grantham.

"Oh, yes. I had almost forgotten." Cora was still not sure why this gift was supposed to have come from her. Apparently, Carson had suggested to Robert that it would be more appropriate for it to come from the family. Robert thought it would be strange coming from himself, considering he had never met the woman. So now, Cora was left to justify a random gift to a member of staff. "I thought it would be nice to commemorate your first Christmas with us. Please accept this as a token of our esteem."

Elsie was quite shocked to be handed a wrapped Christmas gift from Lady Grantham. All the staff had already received their allotment of fabric and an extra bonus with their last wages. "Thank you, My Lady." Elsie stammered as she slid the tartan ribbon off the slick green paper. Still standing before her seated employers, Elsie opened the flat, white box. "Oh, My Lady, this is perfect. Whatever made you think of it?"

"Well…it seemed right." Cora said, noncommittally. She wasn't even sure what was in the box. Robert had tried to explain, but she thought he was mad. Why would Carson buy the housekeeper scissors? On a chain?

"It is so lovely, My Lady. Thank you. This will be a great improvement over my current key ring." She removed the silver chatelaine from the box, admiring the delicate scrolled working of the clasp. Three chains of stainless steel cascaded from the silver decoration. One chain was occupied by a small pair of scissors, ideal for clipping fraying pillows, linens and curtains. The other two chains ended in small rings, ready for her keys. Already, Elsie was thinking, _One for upstairs' keys and one for downstairs' keys._

Elsie had been looking for something to replace the heavy brass key ring that Mrs. Pearson had favored. Not only did it clank in an unappealing manner when she was going up or down the stairs; it had caused a permanent, small bruise to form on her leg where it hit her repeatedly.

Now that Cora saw the gift properly, it did make sense to her. "Well, Mrs. Pearson was rather old fashioned when it came to her keys. We thought you would appreciate something more delicate."

"Thank you, again, My Lady. I can't think of a finer gift."

"You are most welcome, Mrs. Hughes. That will be all."

After the housekeeper had left, Robert turned to his wife. "What the hell just happened?"

"A thoughtful gift was gratefully received, Robert."

"Scissors and key rings? These are thoughtful gifts?"

"They are for someone in her position, Robert. And, as far as chatelaines go, that is quite a lovely one; tasteful, but beautiful. To be honest, I _should_ have thought to get her one for Christmas."

"Chatelaine? Is that what it's called?" Robert asked rhetorically. "Well, she thought it was the perfect gift. She and Carson really are perfectly suited, are they not?"

"They work together well, if that's what you mean."

"Do you not think they might work together too well?"

Cora finally understood what Robert was saying. There certainly was an unspoken something between the two heads of household. She had noticed it, but had not thought to attribute it to any romantic feelings, only to the mutual respect of two people at the top of their profession.

"Do you think we should do anything, my dear?" He asked her.

"Absolutely not. We don't know that anything is going on. To be honest, so long as it does not affect the level of service, I do not care if anything is going on, nor should you."

"But, if we let it go unchecked, it might mean that Carson must leave us."

"I don't see why it should mean that. But, if it did, we would be happy for him. We should be happy for them both. But I think you are seeing smoke where there is no fire. This is Carson we're talking about, after all."

"Yes. Yes, of course, you are right, my dear. There is no need to go looking for trouble where there is none."

-00-

Elsie could not believe the lovely gift she had just received. She had priced chatelaines her last half day, looking through all of Mrs. Beecher's catalogs. Elsie had not found anything for less than three pounds, and those had been bulky brass things that were not much improvement over her current key ring.

She knew immediately that this was not a three pound, or even a five pound gift. If this was anything less than eight pounds, she'd eat her hat.

Elsie had seen the confusion in both Lord and Lady Grantham's faces. One had no clue what was in the gift before it was given and the other had no clue even after. Neither of them had purchased her gift, she was certain of it. Only one person could have done.

He looked up from his ledgers at a light, jingling sound. She was standing in his doorway dangling her new key ring, the keys freshly transferred from her old ring.

"Whatever is that, Mrs. Hughes?" He tried to sound curious, but she could tell he was delighted.

"A beautiful gift from our thoughtful employers to celebrate my first Christmas as housekeeper." She walked in and hung the keys at her waist for the first time. Elsie saw how his eyes followed the keys to her hip and lingered there. He was very proud of himself at that moment, as she felt he well ought to be. "Her Ladyship has exquisite taste."

His smile broadened. His eyes still rested at her waist as he admired how the chains hung down from her waist to the lovely curve of her hip. "She does, indeed."

"I feel a little guilty." She confessed.

"Why?" He wrested his gaze from her hip to her face.

"I have not yet earned a gift this fine. This is something you give to a housekeeper after many years of loyal service."

"Perhaps Her Ladyship felt that you do deserve it." He offered, hesitantly. "Perhaps... she wanted you to have this with the hope that you would stay at Downton for a very long time."

"Do you think that's what she is hoping, Mr. Carson?" Elsie asked softly, biting her lip as she awaited his response.

"I believe she must hope that very much, Mrs. Hughes."

"You may tell Her Ladyship that I've no plans to leave Downton, Mr. Carson."

"She will be very glad to hear it, Mrs. Hughes. As am I."

TBC…

* * *

**A/N Sorry about the letter fake out, please don't hate me. I will tell you that it is still out there, but don't fixate on that too much. **

**As for the gift, I was just going to call it a key chain, but I noticed there were scissors attached and looked up 'scissors on a chain' and tada! Straight from Wikipedia… 'A chatelaine is a decorative belt hook or clasp worn at the waist with a series of chains suspended from it. Each chain is mounted with a useful household appendage such as scissors, thimble, watch, key, vinaigrette, household seal, etc.'**

**Fanfic, it's educational!**

**Please review if you have recovered from the tryptophan and the shopping. **


	17. Ch17: Pan's Shadow

**Chapter 17: Pan's Shadow**

Elsie sat on the edge of her bed, holding the battered letter. She had seen it in the evening post and slipped it into her pocket between the backdoor and the servant's hall, where she had handed the rest of the post to Mr. Carson. The idea of letting the letter reach him had played in her mind ever since his return, but when the moment came, she stole her words back without hesitation. His attachment to the Crawley family was too strong. Even if he did choose her, it would tear him in two and she could not do that to him.

Initially, Elsie had thought his rejection of her would break her heart, but when she considered the situation objectively, she realized that nothing had changed for him. He had not been made aware of her true feelings. So, she decided that nothing need change for her. She would continue to give him her support and devotion and be content with the small kindnesses he dared to show her. Her belief in his feelings had not waivered.

Between the girls' talk of London and Miss O'Brien's story of Lady Grantham's hideous gloves, Elsie had pieced together some of his shopping adventures. She was even more impressed with her perfect gift now, knowing he had bought something for Lady Grantham on the same day that could only be described as haphazard. But everything had worked out in the end. Rosamund had written to inform Cora that fuchsia gloves were now all the rage in London since the woman of the hour, Mrs. J.M. Barrie herself, had begun to wear them everywhere.

For a week after coming home, Carson looked for her letter in each post, finally giving it up for lost. He would have to wait for the Season to receive his first letter from her.

In the weeks that followed, the euphoria of His Lordship's return wore off and a malaise set in. Lord Grantham wandered the house like a ghost, Pharaoh following along dutifully. When the weather was dry, they wandered the gardens and the grounds together as if searching for something he could not remember he had lost.

Mr. Carson was not handling things much better. Elsie noticed that Mr. Carson had become more deferential upstairs and more dictatorial down. She was not altogether pleased with this shift, though she thought she understood the cause. Mr. Carson felt he had become lax during Lord Grantham's absence. He was trying to rebuild the walls of propriety that he had neglected somewhat over the past few years.

Also, she was worried that Mr. Carson had lost his sense of purpose. The return of his Lord and master had been Mr. Carson's focal point for three years; the finish line to be gained. But, that had now been achieved and he was having difficulty finding something new on which to concentrate. The daily running of the home was not fulfilling enough. Mr. Carson had not visited the nursery or spent any appreciable time with the girls since returning from London. This added to his dark mood, she was sure.

Elsie tried to reach out to him, but he was avoiding her. The pleasant jingling of her keys on their delicate chains sounded softly in the hallways and, unbeknownst to her, comforted him. They also allowed him to avoid her more easily. She felt like the cat that had been belled and could no longer sneak up on the mice, or rather, the mouse.

In defense of his dour temper, he was working much harder than anyone in the house, including Elsie. Both Geoffrey and Roger had proven unequal to the task of being Lord Grantham's valet. In addition to his other responsibilities, this duty now fell to Carson until a suitable candidate could be found. The task was a thankless one which started and ended Carson's days on a sour note. While dressing His Lordship, Carson would try to hint at hunting parties to be organized or the resumption of planning for the delayed Servant's Ball. All suggestions were met with noncommittal grunts of displeasure. Carson knew better than to belabor the points.

Elsie had finally discovered that she could trap the butler in his pantry after the servant's dinner was done. There was paperwork he had to do and he could not run away. Elsie had gotten into the habit of taking him tea each evening as he worked. Sometimes she simply brought the tea and left, afraid he'd start hiding elsewhere if she hounded him too much. Sometimes she sat down, uninvited, across from him. He never protested when she did the later, but he never invited her to stay and the burden of conversation always fell to her.

One evening, in mid January, Elsie decided that she'd let Mr. Carson brood long enough. For the good of the house, she was not letting him leave his pantry tonight with out making him start to see sense.

"I was by the nursery this afternoon." She began. "Lady Sybil is still telling me all about your London adventures."

"They may be veering into the fiction of a child's imaginings at this point, Mrs. Hughes. I cannot think what more she can have to tell."

"Then you don't have friend named Paul, to whom you gave your hat? Sybil said he smelled like vinegar."

"She only thinks that because she's never smelled cheap wine. Paul is the Earl's Court local drunk. I've known him for years. I'm not sure I should have introduced him to the young ladies. He's a good soul, but broken."

"Why broken?"

"He had everything a man could want; wealth, health and a loving family. But he lost his whole family. Suddenly his wealth was a burden and his health a curse. He gave away his money and lives hand to mouth now, drinking to forget and waiting for booze and neglect to claim him. Unfortunately for him, he's the constitution of an ox. Not exactly the sort of person you want to introduce to children." Paul really had not looked well the last time Carson saw him.

Mrs. Hughes broke into his melancholy musings with something almost as depressing. "Lady Sybil asked me if there was something they had done wrong in London. All the young ladies think you are angry with them."

Mr. Carson looked at Mrs. Hughes as though she had just stabbed him in the back. "I hope you told them otherwise."

"I told them you were very busy now that their father was home. The younger two seemed to accept that, but Lady Mary will not be fooled. She knows there's more to it than your being busy."

Carson smiled ruefully. "Of course she does."

"Just because their father is back does not mean you can't spend time with them."

He looked at her sharply. "It means precisely that, Mrs. Hughes. It was barely acceptable for me to be so familiar with them when he was away. Now that he is home…"

She saw it clearly now. He was trying to draw back, trying to regress to the butler he was before Lord Grantham left his family to Carson's protection. Mr. Carson believed that the girls no longer needed a surrogate father because their true father was home. He could not be more wrong. "But he isn't spending any time with them either."

"Nor is he likely to if there is a butler already taking his place. He will come around, Mrs. Hughes, and when he does, he must find them waiting for him."

"But they miss you." She informed him gently. "And you miss them."

"They'll get over it."

"And you? Will you get over it?"

"Not that it matters, but yes, I will." He scratched violently at the ledgers for a few moments before looking up at her. "Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Hughes." This declarative statement told Elsie that she was being dismissed. She was satisfied with tonight's progress. She knew it had been painful for him, but it had been necessary.

"I'll wish you a goodnight, then, Mr. Carson." As she rose to remove the tea tray, her keys jangled pleasantly.

With a sad, half smile, Charles asked, "And are you still fond of your gift, Mrs. Hughes?"

Startled by the question, she answered, "Yes, Mr. Carson. I am; very much."

"It will need to be polished regularly. Feel free to drop by anytime I am polishing the silver and I can take care of it very easily."

"I shouldn't want to be a bother. I can polish it myself."

"It would not be a bother, Mrs. Hughes. When the cabinet is open, it won't take long, and it would be my pleasure."

"Very well, Mr. Carson. I will do that."

Later in the week, Elsie had come upon him in the late morning with the silver cabinet open. He was just beginning the polishing when she entered his pantry. Usually, he would not allow anyone in his pantry when the cabinet was open. Holding up her keys, she said, "I thought I would avail myself of the opportunity."

He smiled warmly at her, a more genuine smile than she'd seen from him in weeks. "Certainly, Mrs. Hughes. Draw up a chair. I'll be with you in just a moment."

They chatted easily as he finished up the sugar bowl he was working on when she came in. She found now, as she would often find in the future, that he was more forthcoming when he was concentrating on this meticulous work. It reminded her of how they had spoken when she'd first become housekeeper; comfortable but guarded.

"I understand, Mr. Carson, that, in addition to the new valet, Her Ladyship would like to add another housemaid, in anticipation of more house parties."

"Yes, she has mentioned that to me. Do you want to post the listing in the London papers or recruit locally?"

"I was considering recruiting from within. I do not think Anna is happy in the kitchens. Her disposition is better suited for housemaid or even a Lady's Maid."

"So you want to advertise for a kitchen maid and move Anna?"

"I need to speak to her first, but yes, that would be my ideal plan."

"I know Mrs. Patmore thinks highly of her. You'll not be making a friend there."

"I am unlikely to ever make a friend there, Mr. Carson."

He chose to stay silent on that subject. Mr. Carson had already seen the mutual respect between the two women, but knew each would balk to call it friendship. Mr. Carson placed the shining sugar bowl on the proper shelf, ready for dinner service. He returned to his desk with a small bundle. Laying a fresh rag in front of him, Mr. Carson motioned for her to place the chatelaine on the cloth. Beside the cloth, there lay a series of small brushes and picks.

"This is still in very good condition, Mrs. Hughes. A quick buff should do the job this time."

"I should not have imposed upon your time, Mr. Carson."

"Nonsense. It's best to stay ahead of the tarnish when you are dealing with silver, Mrs. Hughes." He made quick work of it and only used the cloth. "You should use a cloth or gloves when handling the silver clasp, whenever possible. You won't have to worry about the chains, as they are stainless steel."

She used an extra cloth to pick up the finished chatelaine and replace it on her belt, but remained seated. "Thank you, Mr. Carson." Mr. Carson looked at her, a little perplexed that she made no sign of leaving. He returned to the cabinet and took out the next piece of silver to be polished. "Do you think there will be a servant's ball this year, Mr. Carson? The staff would very much like to know."

"They shall know as soon as I have an answer from His Lordship. It has not yet been cancelled." He spoke with his back to her, facing the silver. "Though I think it likely that it will be."

"The young ladies will be disappointed."

"How is that, Mrs. Hughes? None of them are old enough to attend."

"They are working on an entertainment for the servant's ball."

"Should I be worried?" He asked lightly.

"Very, Mr. Carson." That caused him to turn and face her. She smiled and rose from her chair. "That reminds me. I've been asked to tell you that you are to report to the nursery after tea today. Lady Mary's orders."

"I cannot possibly..."

"And Her Ladyship's orders, as well, Mr. Carson."

He scowled at her with his hands upon his hips but he did not look very menacing with his apron and sleeve protectors. "Do you know what this is about, Mrs. Hughes?"

"I do, Mr. Carson, but I've been sworn to secrecy." And with that, she turned and jingled away.

After tea, Mr. Carson dutifully knocked on the nursery door. "Come in." Came Lady Mary's pert reply.

"You summoned me, My Lady?" Carson stepped into the room to find it occupied by Miss Randall, all the young ladies and Lady Grantham. He looked at Lady Grantham questioningly, but it was young Lady Mary who addressed him.

"We are tired of being ignored by both you and Papa, Carson." He started to protest, but she spoke over him. "You've not spoken to us since London and he would rather play with the dog. We've a plan to fix that and you will help us with it. Is that understood?"

"Yes, My Lady."

"Excellent. Now, please fetch the dog and we'll get started."

TBC…

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**A/N Just a quick update today. Expect the next update on Monday. We've only two chapters left in this visit to 1903, but I hope they will be quite long.**

**Thank you for all the encouraging reviews and for not being too miffed with me over the letter. Thank you for reading, and please do drop me a note, if you've the time.**


	18. Ch18: The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up

**Chapter 18: The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up **

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"I've some good news for you, Carson." Lord Grantham told him one morning.

"What is that, My Lord?"

"Her Ladyship informed me last night that we will be having the Servant's Ball after all. It shall be a week from yesterday."

"That will be welcome news downstairs, My Lord."

"Can you and Mrs. Hughes pull it together so quickly? I understand this will be her first Downton Ball."

"I am certain we can. I know that Mrs. Pearson covered the traditions of the Servant's Ball in her training. I do not think we should delay any longer if the decision has been made. Do you have any idea what brought this decision about?"

"Her exact words were, 'Enough brooding, my dear. Let's have a party.' Have I been brooding, Carson?"

"It is not my place to disagree with Her Ladyship. She is in a better position to judge."

Lord Grantham rolled his eyes at this response. "Very diplomatically said, Carson. A simple 'yes' would have sufficed."

Carson thought it best not to comment further.

"I do not want my mood preventing the Ball, Carson. The staff certainly deserve their entertainment."

"I believe they do, My Lord."

Robert turned slowly in place so Carson could give him a final brush. "Have you noticed where Pharaoh is spending his afternoons?"

"My Lord?"

"I cannot seem to locate him after tea for the past few days. I'm sure it is nothing. Perhaps Mrs. Patmore has a stash of bones left over from dinner last week."

"I am sure it is something like that, My Lord."

-00-

"He is on to us. I think we should leave Pharaoh out of things for now." He warned the girls that afternoon.

"It is not as though he has many lines to learn." Edith reasoned.

"Very well, we shall rehearse without the dog." Mary allowed.

-00-

While dressing for dinner a few days later, Lord Grantham asked Carson, "Have you heard anything about the girls' plans for the Servant's Ball? Lady Grantham has been dropping not so subtle hints that I should be prepared for anything that evening."

"I do know of their plans, My Lord, but I am sworn to secrecy. Please do not ask me to betray a trust."

"I am surprised they told you anything, Carson. They should know you would tell me everything if I demanded it."

"They most likely are hoping that you will not do so. And I do not believe they have told me everything. I am only privy to the things for which I am required."

"I detest all this secrecy and sneaking about."

"If I may say, My Lord, you might still avoid it if you were to visit the nursery and spend some time with the young ladies."

"I am poor company for anyone, Carson, especially children." Robert admitted despondently. "I don't know what to do when I am with them."

"To speak frankly, My Lord, little would be required of you. The young ladies are quite company enough between them." Carson detected a small smile at this comment.

-00-

"Are all of your preparations for the Ball going well, Mrs. Hughes?" He asked her, over wine two nights before the event.

"Yes, Mr. Carson. The only difficulty was finding a band at such short notice, but the Dowager Countess solved that problem. Everything else has been as anticipated."

"And are there any special details of which I should be aware?" He asked, innocently.

"None that I can think of, Mr. Carson. Why do you ask?" She answered, just as innocently.

"It is only that I am aware that the young ladies are making extra work for you and I should be glad to lighten the load if I can."

She smiled knowingly at him. "You are trying to spy on them for His Lordship."

He did not look in the least ashamed at being caught. "You would tell me if there is anything I should warn him about, would you not?"

"I would, Mr. Carson. There is nothing to worry about, I assure you."

Satisfied with this answer, Mr. Carson let the matter lie.

"And how is the play coming, Mr. Carson?"

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Oh, they've told you about that?"

"They've told _me _everything, Mr. Carson. _My_ loyalty is not in question."

He huffed at this jab, but smiled. "The play is progressing well, Mrs. Hughes. Each of the girls play at least 4 characters, sometime simultaneously. It must be seen to be believed."

"And how many roles have you?"

"Only two. I am the narrator and the villain…and the stagehand."

"And the author and the director?"

"Oh, no. I'll not be taking any credit or blame for that. The girls are the authoresses and directors. I have been powerless to contain them in any way."

Elsie laughed at this. "I can imagine. And what is your assessment of the production?"

"It will be entertaining, of that I have no doubt. Though I am rather dubious that it will be coherent." He sipped his wine thoughtfully.

"They lent me the original play to read." She told him. "I've been trying to assign the roles in my head. I assume Lady Sybil is Peter Pan…"

"And a mermaid and several of the lost boys as well."

"Lady Mary will be Wendy...?"

"And a pirate, a lost boy and the red Indian chief."

"That leaves John or Michael for Lady Edith."

"She is John, Tiger Lily and Mr. Smee, whose role has been vastly expanded to the detriment of Captain Hook. Miss Randall will be playing the part of Michael."

"That sounds like excellent casting." Elsie teased.

Mr. Carson could not suppress a smile as he remembered. "Lady Edith informed Miss Randall that she would be playing Michael because he was the dullest character and she would not have to act much. I do not think she meant to be unkind, but Lady Mary's laughter did not smooth things over."

"I should imagine not." Mrs. Hughes hid her smirk in her almost empty wine glass. After recovering, she inquired. "And your salt mixture will be Tinkerbell?"

"Half of her. We'll be using a lamp and mirror for some of the scenes, as they did in London. That reminds me, Mrs. Hughes; the ladies would like to borrow your keys to play the voice of Tinkerbell."

"My keys? There are plenty of bells to choose from in the house, I am sure."

"As I tried to inform Lady Sybil, but she insisted. She said, and I quote, 'Tinkerbell must sound sweet and familiar, like a happy memory you've yet to make.' End quote. When she put it so poetically, I found I could not argue with her."

Elsie blushed at the compliment that she felt was meant for herself as much as for her keys. "From the mouths of babes. How could I say no to that?"

-00-

The night of the Servant's Ball finally arrived. Robert was surprised to see his uniform laid out when he came upstairs to change for dinner.

"I have my orders, My Lord." Carson explained when Lord Grantham asked why.

"From whom?"

"Whom do you think?" Carson asked as he removed His Lordship's tweed jacket.

"This is all part of their surprise?" He removed his vest.

"I am not privy to this particular detail. I have only been told enough to be sure that you attend in uniform this evening, My Lord."

"Secretive little minxes. They are very much their mother's daughters, Carson."

"And their father's also, My Lord. They are adamant that you wear your uniform. My livelihood was threatened should I fail." The joke did not sound as light as Carson had intended.

Lord Grantham looked abashed. "You know that is all bluster, Carson. No one would ever consider sacking you for any such slight. We all know full well that this family would be lost without you."

"Thank you for saying so, My Lord. Please keep that in mind as the evening progresses."

Now they both smiled. "I shall try, Carson."

"If you will follow me, My Lord."

Carson led Lord Grantham downstairs, out the drawing room French doors and towards the garden. "Have they moved the Ball?"

"No, My Lord. Your ride is awaiting you here."

"My ride?" A wagon clattered to a stop on the lawn beyond the garden. Robert looked at the wagon and then at his butler with confusion. _HMS Downton _was painted roughly on the side of the wagon and small ship's mast had been erected in the middle of the wagon. "What is all this about, Carson?"

"I was not aware of this detail, My Lord, but I would say they are giving you a second chance."

"A second chance for what?"

"To come home." The garden was silent about them as Carson looked at Lord Grantham frankly. "You cannot continue to live betwixt and between, My Lord."

"But, Carson…"

"I must go and take my place, My Lord. I shall see you soon. They are waiting for you." Carson turned and practically ran away from Lord Grantham and the wagonship.

Back at the front door, the staff waited patiently. They were not wearing their usual livery, but all were dressed in their finest for the Servant's Ball. Mr. Carson, who's best happened to also be his livery, walked briskly out the front door to take his place beside Mrs. Hughes just as the wagon rounded the corner of the house. Carson nodded at Mrs. Hughes, forcing himself not to dwell on the way her light green dress complimented her complexion, or how the lower than normal collar accented her graceful neck. He told himself there would be time to admire her later in the evening.

Opposite the staff, the family waited, similarly dressed in their festive best. Lady Mary looked nervously at Mr. Carson, who gave her an encouraging smile and a nod. The wagon 'sailed' to a stop in front of the assembled household. Geoffrey and Roger ran forward and lifted a gangplank to the back of the wagon. Lord Grantham stepped down the plank, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Carson knew he felt ridiculous, but was glad to see Lord Grantham following gamely along with the girls' plans.

"Welcome home, my dear." Lady Grantham stepped forward to formally greet her husband.

"This is ridiculous." He whispered to her as she kissed his cheek.

"Yes, it is." She whispered back as she kissed his other cheek.

"Welcome home, my son." The Dowager Countess spoke in her turn. She rolled her eyes to signify that her participation was reluctant at best.

Robert smiled at his mother and exchanged kisses dutifully. "Thank you for being here, Mama."

"Have I gone mad? I distinctly remember doing this in London."

"No, Mama, but how could you welcome me home in London when Downton is in Yorkshire?" Robert was beginning to understand what all this pageantry was meant to accomplish. He turned to his brave young girls who had orchestrated all of this. How was it that his children understood how he felt better than he himself did?

"Welcome home, Papa." Mary said very seriously. Robert bent down to kiss her on each cheek.

"Welcome home, Papa." Edith curtseyed. He kissed her as he had kissed Mary.

"Welcome home, Papa." Sybil bounced excitedly. Her father knelt in front of her. He took Sybil by her shoulders to calm her before kissing her on each cheek.

As he knelt, Pharaoh ran up beside Sybil and demanded to be acknowledged. Laughing, Robert took the dog's face in his hands. For a moment, it looked as though Lord Grantham was going to let the dog lick his face. Elsie heard Mr. Carson cough quietly beside her. Robert contented himself with a friendly pat on the head as he rose from the gravel.

"Welcome home, My Lord." Carson bowed.

Robert approached Carson with two great strides. The butler looked momentarily afraid that His Lordship was about to greet him as he had greeted his family. His relief when Robert merely shook his hand was palpable. "Thank you, Carson. This has been lovely."

"Oh, but this is just the beginning, My Lord." And he ushered the Crawley family inside.

Family and staff were shown to seating that had been set up before a small stage in the Grand Hall. As people were finding their places, Miss Randall and the girls ran around to the back to change into their costumes and put on makeup. Mr. Carson would not need a costume for several acts and he had steadfastly refused makeup. He had made only one allowance.

Receiving his cue from backstage, Mr. Carson took his place on the stage and opened the play. He turned the pages of the script and began to read.

"This production is an abridged version of Mr. J.M. Barrie's _Peter Pan_, as interpreted by Ladies Mary, Edith and Sybil Crawley. Liberties have been taken with the original manuscript. It should be noted that, though Mr. Barrie is a close acquaintance of the Ladies Crawley, he has not given his blessing to this production. We are certain that no one associated with this production will profit from their involvement. This includes the audience."

Only a few small giggles greeted this opening.

"Oh, dear. This is going to be a long evening. For all of us." Mr. Carson quipped. More, scattered laughter peppered amongst the audience.

"It should be known," Carson continued to read, "That audience participation is welcomed by the players. There will be no repercussions for those who choose to jeer the villains nor any special favors granted to those who cheer the heroes. However, there may be consequences for remaining silent." With a wry smile to the audience, Mr. Carson removed the last barrier of propriety.

"We shall open our story in the Darling nursery in London…" Mr. Carson stepped backstage as the lights dimmed and the curtain opened upon Lady Mary, Lady Edith and Miss Randall jumping on their make believe beds. Their beds were little more than three separate piles of blankets. "The Darling children, Wendy, John and Michael were fighting their evening routine, as was their routine. Even their governess, Nana, could not calm them."

At this point, Edith took a bone out of her pocket and whistled. Pharaoh, wearing the nurse's cap, ran from back stage and almost devoured the girl's hand. Edith wrestled with the dog for a while, but eventually let go. Having achieved the bone, Pharaoh left the stage to sit at Lord Grantham's feet where he slobbered happily.

"Nana soon gave up and left the children to their own devices."

The audience erupted in laughter.

"Soon enough, the children tired of their playing and fell asleep." The light dimmed further as Carson covered the main lamp with an opaque cloth. Lady Edith gave several large, stage snores to sell the illusion. "Although they knew the danger, the children insisted on leaving the window open. And tonight, as on several other nights, a visitor flew in their window."

A glimmer of light appeared on the window sill. It was not very bright, but stood out well on the darkened stage. Several of the younger maids gasped as the light began to flit around the room, finally disappearing behind a clock on the fake mantle.

Lady Sybil/ Peter Pan climbed stealthily through the window wearing a hunter green shift tied at the waist with a band of leather. Anna clapped at the entrance, startling Sybil, who took a moment to bow gracefully to the audience before sneaking around the room. Obviously not finding what he sought, Peter Pan sat on the end of one of the beds and began to weep.

"Why are you crying, boy?" Wendy/Mary asked, pretending to give a great yawn and stretch to denote that she had awoken but was still sleepy.

"I have lost my shadow. I last saw him here. He is very mischievous, but I should very much like him back."

"Oh, that must be what Nana found. We've got him here." Wendy handed Peter a length of silk cloth, but Peter seemed unsure of what to do with it. "Shall I sew it on for you?"

"Yes, please."

The lamps were uncovered and the stage was once more awash in bright light. Mary pantomimed sewing the silk to Sybil's foot. John/Edith and Michael/Miss Randal both stretched and yawned in the background as they awoke.

"There; all fixed. What is your name, boy?"

"I am Peter Pan! I am Captain of the lost boys."

"Who are they?"

"They are the children who fall out of their prams when the nurse is looking the other way. If they are not claimed in seven days they are sent far away to the Never-Land."

"What fun it must be."

"Yes, but we are rather lonely. You see, Wendy, we have no female companionship."

"Are none of the other children girls?"

"Oh no; girls, you know, are much too clever to fall out of their prams." Sybil paused here for the laughter to die down. The girls had insisted on keeping this exchange verbatim from the play and rightfully so.

Now they went off completely in their own direction. "Would you come to Never-Land and tell us your stories and be our mother? Your brothers may come as well."

"Yes, let us go, please, Wendy." John begged.

"Won't Mama, Papa and Nana miss us?"

"You can come back whenever you like." Peter assured her. "So long as they keep the window open."

"Alright, then. Let us go now. But how do we reach Never-Land?"

Peter pointed out the window. "Second to the right and straight on 'til morning."

"Do we walk?" Michael asked dully.

"Of course not! We fly! You do remember how to fly, don't you?"

"I am not sure I ever knew." Wendy confessed sadly.

"Oh, all children know how to fly when they are first born. But it is one of the first things we forget amongst all the many things we forget after we are born. You will remember very quickly with the help of pixie dust. Tinkerbell! Tink!"

Elsie's keys tinkled as the light rekindled behind the clock. The light landed briefly on each of the Darling children and then fluttered out the window.

"Now, follow me!" And Peter dove out the window. "To Never-Land!"

The three Darling children shrugged and jumped out the window as well. "To Never-Land!"

The narration returned as the curtain closed. "And so, the Darling children flew off to find Never-Land." Sometimes, Mr. Carson had to raise his voice to be heard above the scraping of props being moved on and off the stage. More than once, the narrator's voice moved behind the curtain to a particularly noisy part of the stage. Elsie knew he was helping them with the heavier items. "They flew all night because, as everyone knows, Never-Land can only be found in the morning. Peter and Tinkerbell led the children to their home in the Never Wood, where the lost boys awaited the arrival of the mother that Peter had promised them."

The curtain reopened and, from this point on, the play devolved into a confused mess. The Darling children, played by the two eldest Crawley girls and Miss Randal, were introduced to the lost boys, played by all the Crawley girls and Miss Randal. The different characters were signified by different hats or scarves or coats, but these soon became jumbled. Mr. Carson's narration tried to untangle the chaos, but could only do so much. Lady Edith kept glaring at him in the wings with each improvisation.

None of this mattered to the audience. Everyone was enjoying the spectacle immensely. Mrs. Hughes and Lady Grantham, being the only two in the audience with any inkling of the true plot were able to follow along somewhat, but both soon gave up trying and just let the play unfold before them.

Finally, the moment Mrs. Hughes had been waiting for arrived. Captain Hook strode onto stage, dwarfing the four other actors, who were currently portraying a total of nine characters. Elsie bit back a peal of laughter and was not entirely successful. Thankfully, Roger's loud hisses and boos covered her faux pas.

No one could have blamed her for laughing. Mr. Carson stood over the girls and Miss Randal wearing a long coat and brandishing his hook. He had drawn on a curly, black, greasepaint mustache and was wearing a fur stole as a wig under a homemade tricorner hat. He looked about as happy as a wet cat.

Without his narration, the plot dissolved entirely. Mostly, Captain Hook blustered and Peter Pan ran about teasing him. At one point, he did capture Tinkerbell in the lamp and impressed the audience with his pyrotechnics. And Sybil's impassioned plea for Tinkerbell's life had most of the audience clapping, even if they were not sure why they were meant to be clapping.

Finally, the big showdown happened and Captain Hook was kicked overboard to the waiting crocodile. Miss Randall, who had snuck off stage as planned, threw two glasses of water on stage from the wings to simulate the splash as Mr. Carson jumped past her. One glass of water caught Edith/Mr. Smee right in the face as she stepped forward to deliver her very important line. A great hand, that Mrs. Hughes would have sworn was a hook mere seconds before, reached out with a towel and wiped the sputtering Mr. Smee's face so he could say, "You are our Captain now, Peter Pan. Where would you have us sail?"

"To London, Mr. Smee. We must return the Darling children to their parents, who will adopt all the lost boys and any pirates who wish to remain in England."

With that, Mr. Smee took the ship's wheel as Peter Pan jumped upon the 'prow' of the ship and pointed the way.

Curtain.

The applause and cheering were disproportionate to the talent and skill of the production, but perfectly matched to the enjoyment of the audience. Roger jeered Mr. Carson one last time as the red eared butler took a reluctant bow with the rest of the cast.

Lord Grantham could not contain his pride. He beckoned the girls down from the stage and embraced them all at once. Pharaoh barked excitedly and the whole assembly laughed when they realized that the dog still wore the nurse's cap.

Though the run was short and there would be no notices in the papers, the play was long hailed locally as a theatrical triumph.

TBC…

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**A/N We should be wrapping up in the next chapter with some good ole bittersweet Chelsieness; more sweet than bitter, I promise. Thanks for sticking with me. Reviews are the loveliest things…hint hint.**


	19. Ch19: Tootles

**A/N Here is a nice, long chapter to put a lovely, plaid bow on this story. I hope you enjoy it.**

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**Chapter 19: Tootles**

The stage was struck and the professional band replaced the amateur players. Everyone enjoyed the light meal Mrs. Patmore and her girls had prepared. Mr. Carson and Lady Grantham opened the dancing. Lord Grantham and Mrs. Hughes joined them shortly and soon. The Ball was properly begun.

Having relinquished their partners after the first dance, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes retired to one side of the room, finding their way naturally to each other's side. He fetched them each a glass of wine, which they sipped as they surveyed the room. They stood shoulder to shoulder and spoke without looking at one another. It would be difficult for a casual observer to know whether they conversed together or merely stood in silence, but for the occasional smiles they exchanged.

"And are you enjoying your first Downton Servant's Ball, Mrs. Hughes?" He inquired formally.

"I am enjoying myself very much, Mr. Carson." She matched his professional tone. "Though it is not my first Downton Ball. I was present at several in my youth."

"Yes, of course, I do forget." He contemplated his wine glass seriously before saying. "I hope I will not be overstepping if I mention that you look particularly well this evening, Mrs. Hughes."

"Particularly well? Yes, I think you could make such a statement, Mr. Carson, without any risk of overstepping." She answered him archly.

He realized that he might have insulted her. "What I meant was, if I may say, Mrs. Hughes, you look lovely this evening. That color suits you."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. I believe you may say that if you wish. And may I say that you look your usual dapper self. Though, I might add, you should have kept the mustache...and perhaps the wig." She smiled sideways at him as he struggled to look grim.

"Don't be cruel, Mrs. Hughes. It is going to take me months to reclaim my authority. The chambermaids will not stop giggling at me."

"But they still respect you, Mr. Carson. Never fear." She assured him. "You certainly delivered what you promised. The play was entertaining and incoherent. Your own performance tonight was excellent, Mr. Carson; the wig notwithstanding."

"I was nothing but set dressing." He said without false humility.

"I thought Captain Hook was rather wooden, but the Narrator was the heart of the show. You almost kept the thread of a plot alive."

"Almost?"

"Almost. Lady Edith did not take kindly to your improvisations. I take it she was the main author."

"She was. And I think she did an admirable job, considering her age."

"That is an excellent point. I noticed that she omitted Mr. and Mrs. Darling."

"We did not have enough actors as it was. Adding two more characters would have made matters even worse." Carson did not have to tell her that he felt uncomfortable portraying the girls' father, even in a play.

"Once Captain Hook made his entrance, things were rather a jumble. You were not _off _stage to explain to us what was happening _on_. Thankfully, Lord and Lady Grantham didn't notice. They were too busy admiring the three main actors, though I think they may have been biased."

"But, based on a completely unbiased opinion…?"

_I would not say completely unbiased._ "You may have missed your calling, Mr. Carson. A voice like that belongs on the stage." His ears flushed and, for a moment, she thought he might be about to confess his past to her. But he recovered so quickly that she could have imagined the whole thing. "And I will grudgingly admit that Miss Randall made a passable Michael. Though she was not a very good stagehand. She could have been more accurate with the splash of water when you fell to the crocodile."

He chuckled at this comment. "I think she may have been perfectly accurate, Mrs. Hughes. I suspect Lady Edith was paying the price for telling Miss Randall that she was the ideal choice to play dull Michael."

"Maybe I've been too quick to judge Miss Randall." They both looked across to where the Governess was dancing with Roger. "I hope you'll not retaliate against Roger for his vocal participation tonight. You promised."

"I did no such thing. The young ladies promised. But I think I will find reason enough to discipline Roger without blaming it on his enthusiastic jeering." As if to prove the point, Mr. Carson called out to the footman as he danced nearby. "Hands where I can see them, Roger."

"Aye, aye, Captain." The cheeky footman answered and danced away.

"I think it may be time for Roger to find a new situation." Carson said darkly.

"Just because he enjoyed the play?" Mrs. Hughes asked, surprised by Mr. Carson's apparent vindictiveness.

"No. Roger has learned all he can at Downton and he is getting too old to be a footman. He'll never be butler at Downton, nor any great house. His best shot for advancement here was to have become His Lordship's valet, but that is not going to happen. He should try to find a position as a valet or even butler in a much lesser household."

"But if he is not qualified to be valet, how can he be qualified to be butler?"

"It is not that he is unqualified, Mrs. Hughes. _Geoffrey_ is unqualified, but Geoffrey can learn. His Lordship just can't stand Roger." Carson scowled at the footman who was now dancing with Marjorie. "I profess I do not like him much myself. Miss Randal and Marjorie know their own minds and can handle themselves, but I do not want him spending any time with the younger girls."

"I have been watching for that, Mr. Carson. I assure you."

"Of course. I should not have doubted you, Mrs. Hughes. But enough talk of house matters." Mr. Carson dropped his professional demeanor somewhat and remembered that they were at a ball. "Just because I have made the decision not to dance, does not mean that you must follow suit, Mrs. Hughes. This is the one night where it is permissible to let one's hair down."

"Which you have already done." She reminded him.

"Yes, well." He blushed, but smiled. "You should have seen the wig without the hat. I looked like a Spaniel."

Elsie laughed with surprise at his self deprecating confession. There was no response she could possibly offer to this, so she took another sip of her wine.

"There is precedent for you to dance all you like, Mrs. Hughes. Mrs. Pearson used to enjoy dancing at the ball very much. She would dance with anyone; footmen, hall boys, maids…one year, legend says, she even danced with the Dowager Countess."

"I am not nearly so brave as that, Mr. Carson. Anyway, I much prefer a reel to a waltz or a two-step."

"I fear you'll not find many reels at a Downton Ball, Mrs. Hughes."

"No, I don't think this band knows many. They don't seem to have much of a repertoire."

"Yes, it seems they only know the obscure composers, like Mozart and Strauss." He chided her.

She chose to ignore his taunt. "Speaking of Mrs. Pearson, have you heard from her? I wrote to her in December, but have not heard back."

"I received a letter from her only last week. Apparently she has been under the weather. She has a cough she cannot shake off. I wish I could visit her, but, it is unlikely that I will find the time until after the Season. So long as I am acting valet, it will be impossible for me to take a full day."

"No one could understand that better than Mrs. Pearson." She reminded him.

"Still, I cannot help but feel that I have neglected her since she left."

"You'll find the time this summer; I've no doubt, Mr. Carson." She had finished her wine, but declined another glass when he offered. She felt she'd had enough wine for the night. Elsie did not want to forget herself again. However, she was feeling the small effects of the two glasses she had already drunk. Whether it was this liquid courage or some other daring that led her to open the next topic, she could never say. "I've finished The Little White Bird. I enjoyed it very much."

"I am glad to hear it. I know it would not appeal to everyone, but I found it a fascinating diversion."

"Yes. The gentleman was very funny to me. Imagine not being able to admit how much he enjoyed helping all those people."

"I imagine he just did not like people making a big to do over it. True charity does not require an audience."

She wanted to tease him for defending the grumpy philanthropist. To Elsie, Sybil's story about Paul had exposed Mr. Carson's true nature; one which she had long suspected. Did he have any idea how much he was like the gentleman in the book? Why did they both feel the need to hide their kind hearts behind masks of stern propriety?

"Now I understand what you meant about the thimble and Lady Sybil, Mr. Carson. It was very sweet; so like her. But now I am quite embarrassed that I accidentally left that thimble on your desk."

"Think nothing of it, Mrs. Hughes. You had no way of knowing." He noticed again that her glass was empty. "Are you sure you would not like for me to fetch us some more wine?"

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Carson?"

He looked flustered. "The thought had not even occurred to me, I assure you. I had not considered such a thing possible…until you mentioned it."

"Oh, it's possible." She chuckled.

"There's a story there."

"And perhaps, one day, you shall hear it. But not today."

He opened his mouth to retort, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by Lord Grantham and Lady Mary approaching the two heads of house from across the room.

"Mr. Carson, I should like to present my daughter, Lady Mary Crawley. She would like the honor of dancing the next with you."

"The honor would be entirely mine, My Lord; My Lady."

Robert smiled at Mrs. Hughes, whom he noted was looking very contented this evening. Her face was flushed with wine and excitement. Robert had to admit that she had a certain charm about her when she was not dressed in black. Fleetingly, Lord Grantham worried again that he might lose his butler to this interloper, but the thought passed quickly. He watched Mr. Carson lead Lady Mary to the dance floor.

They made a comical pairing; the tall and broad butler and the small and lithe young Lady. As the dance began, they both wore serious and grave expressions. Carson was afraid his strides would be too long for her and Mary's only experience was dancing with her father, who counted aloud to her when they danced. Both dancers were pleasantly surprised by their partner's proficiency. Soon, Carson guided her confidently through the dance and Lady Mary was able to speak rather than count off the dance steps in her head.

"I need to thank you, Carson."

"I doubt that very much, My Lady."

"No. I really must thank you. My sisters do not understand, but I do. We have asked more of you than we ought; especially in the last few months."

"It is my pleasure to serve, My Lady."

"But you must be relieved that you can return to your normal duties, now that Papa is home."

"I cannot lie, My Lady, I will be glad to be simply a butler again."

"Though, Mama said that, should you decide to apply for governess, she would write you an excellent letter of recommendation." They both laughed at her mother's joke.

"I appreciate that, My Lady." Carson focused his gaze on her tiny hand in his. "If I might be allowed to point out, just as I am now able to focus on being a butler again, you are now free to be just a child."

"But Papa may still need my help."

"The best help you can offer him is to be his little girl, My Lady. Do not be in such a hurry to grow up. The problems you imagine will be there waiting for you when you do. For now, you should enjoy your childhood with your father and mother and your sisters."

"Even Edith?"

"Even Lady Edith."

"I shall try, Carson. And, Carson…"

"Yes, My Lady?"

"You are still very welcome to visit the nursery, when your duties allow. Papa cannot sing a note and Mama only knows those dreadful American songs. And no one reads a book like you do, Carson."

"Thank you for saying so, My Lady. I believe I can carve time out of my schedule to read the odd story and sing the odd tune."

Mary beamed up at him and Mr. Carson smiled back as the dance came to a close. "Thank you for a delightful dance, My Lady." He led her back to her father, bowed and turned away, a lump lodged solidly in his throat.

After leaving Lady Mary, Mr. Carson returned to stand beside Mrs. Hughes with a smug look on his face.

"Am I to take it young Lady Mary has won your heart anew?"

"Someday, you'll see what I see, Mrs. Hughes."

"That is highly doubtful, Mr. Carson. I shall always contend that she will never be as sweet as Lady Sybil."

"Perhaps not, but Lady Mary has something more."

"And what is that?"

"I shouldn't like to say. I fear you will mock me."

"Most likely, I will, but I should dearly like to know."

"She has what I can only describe as…nobility."

"Because she is an Earl's daughter?"

"Not all that are titled deserve to be called noble, Mrs. Hughes. But I do believe Lady Mary and her father merit the appellation. It is one of the reasons I am proud to serve the Crawley family."

"Am I to understand that you ascribe to the notion of the noble savage, Mr. Carson?"

"I do, Mrs. Hughes. But I believe that true nobility, be it hereditary or spontaneous, is very rare."

"Why, Mr. Carson, you may have found something upon which we can agree."

"Well then, we should celebrate. Would you not care for more wine?"

She gave him an exasperated look and then shrugged, "Why not?" And that is how Mrs. Hughes began her Servant's Ball tradition of having exactly one more glass of wine than she ought.

-00-

February 1922- Kingston upon Hull

Elsie Carson thought she was very much beginning to see the appeal of weekends; two full days with Charles during which they could do whatever they liked, though Sunday mornings were spent with the extended Carson family at church and then lunch at Fredrick and Emily's.

Today started as all their Hull Saturdays did; breakfast in bed, consisting of coffee and the pastries the newsboy left them with the morning paper. Now, Elsie was unpacking the last of her boxes from Downton. This final act was all that was needed to formally recognize Hull as their home.

Charles was on the roof, arranging pots of soil that he hoped would soon become an urban herb garden. "For all the soups we cook." He had teased.

She extracted a small but heavy box from the larger crate. "There you are." She smiled. It looked like a box for ladies gloves and was stamped with the Harrods logo. Opening it, she saw that the silver was slightly tarnished after only a few months of disuse. That was easily fixed as she rubbed the clasp with the cloth she had packed it in.

When Charles came down from the roof, he heard a familiar sound coming from the kitchen. He found her by the sink, washing tomatoes. He kissed her on the cheek as he leaned around her to wash the soil from his hands. "You found it!" He dried his hands on her dress, particularly around her bottom.

Pushing him lovingly away, she laughed. "I thought I would wear it for old times' sake. I think I shall hang it by the front door as a spare set of keys. I've put our extra key and the Downton cottage key on it already."

"Whatever you wish, love. I am just glad it is back in our lives. I have missed the musical accompaniment to your lovely walk. You should feel free to wear it whenever you like." He leaned in for another kiss. Hearing those keys had unlocked something in him that he had been planning to keep locked up at least until after lunch. "You know, I'd follow that sound anywhere, El."

"I do know." She allowed him to kiss her more fully now, but when she realized that he was about to smash a tomato between them, she broke off the kiss, pushing him away again. "There were some other items in the box, from that Christmas."

"Other items?" He did not glance at the table to which she had pointed. He wasn't really interested in anything but his wife at the moment.

"The letter that I sent you in London. The first letter I ever wrote to you."

"But I have the first letter you wrote to me; in my cigar box." Charles was perplexed now.

"No, that is the first letter you ever _received_ from me. _This_ is the letter I sent to you on Christmas, when you were in London welcoming Robert home."

"But that letter was lost in the mail. Mr. Anders swore he forwarded it on, but it never reached Downton." They had not discussed that letter in almost twenty years.

Elsie considered the tomato in her hands seriously as she rocked from her heels to the balls of her feet and back again. "It was not so much lost as reclaimed by a repentant writer. I stole it back from the post."

"Why would you do that, love?"

"I wrote the letter after drinking an entire bottle of wine. It was a very improper letter, describing my early fantasies of us being together. Most of it is downright explicit."

"Explicit how?"

"I can hardly remember now, but I know enough to be ashamed. It is there, at your place, if you would like to read it now. I am sure it is still rather embarrassing, but at least now I know it will not destroy our lives."

"And would it have done back then?" He asked as he picked up the battered and aged paper.

"Possibly. It certainly would have changed things." She answered truthfully.

Lunch and lust forgotten, Charles sat that the table and opened the letter, finally delivered after nineteen years.

"You were drunk?" He asked, noticing that the handwriting was still distinctly hers, only neater, more meticulous.

"Very much so." She admitted.

He laughed as he began to read. "That _was_ a nice afternoon, teaching you to ride that bicycle. Do you know, I thought you had broken my toe?"

Elsie watched as he read.

"Goodness, El. I didn't know you knew some of these words. I've certainly never heard you use them. And you should feel free to use them whenever you like, so long as it is just the two of us." He teased. She turned back to the tomatoes, her face almost matching their red color. After a few moments of silence, she dared look back at him. His expression had changed from amused to cheerless. As she watched, it sunk even further to downright despondent.

"Charles? Whatever is the matter, love?" She left the sink and approached the table.

"I know you, El. You were more than drunk when you wrote this, you were miserable."

"Well, I didn't drink a bottle of wine because I was happy."

He could not laugh at her joke, but continued reading, his expression growing even sadder.

"I was missing you, Charles." She tried to explain. "It was the first time you'd been away since I realized how we felt about each other. I was still accepting how things had to be between us."

Finally, he looked up at her with tears gathering in his eyes. "You knew about the thimble all along? You didn't accidentally leave it on my desk." It was not a question.

"No."

He placed the letter back on the table and looked at her as though contemplating an alien being. He looked back down at his hand spread over the letter. "Elsie," he asked quietly, "How can you not despise me?"

"Despise you?" His question had caught her unprepared.

"For all the times I must have carelessly hurt you over the years. If this is how you felt, all that time…" He waved the letter limply.

"Yes. But didn't I hurt you? Didn't you feel the same?"

"Yes, but I was able to fool myself into thinking otherwise most of the time. If I'd ever written it down, the illusion would have been shattered. God, Elsie, it was my ignorance that kept us apart."

"It must be lovely to be the only person in this situation with freewill." She shot at him.

Her sarcasm almost reached him, but he shook his head. "You've the freest will I know, lass, but if I had read this…even if it was a drunken confession…if I had _known_…"

"What? What would we have done?" She took the letter from him, forcing him to look at her.

"We would have had more time together, for one." He declared, agitated.

"Would we? I am not so sure of that, Charles. We spent twenty very good years together before becoming man and wife. I won't let you discount those years." She placed the letter back on the table, out of his reach.

"But, Elsie, they could have been so much more. They could have been richer."

"Perhaps. Ask Tom or Mary about the time that they've lost with those they loved. Ask them what they miss most and they'll tell you it's the little moments." She stood before him. "What wouldn't they give for one more meal together or one more argument or a quiet glass of wine in the evening or simply knowing every moment that there is someone in this world who loves you?"

He closed his eyes as she brushed his hair back from his forehead. The act caused his eyes to overflow. Two heavy tears rolled down his face. Seeing this added to Elsie's determination to make him see reason. "Charles, we've had all of that, and more, for over twenty years. We've lived the intimacy, if not the passion. And now, we have that too. We're the lucky ones. Perhaps we've lived our life together backwards, but we have lived it _together_. And twenty years is more than either Mary or Tom can ever have with the people they've lost."

He had opened his eyes and was watching her now, fascinated. She smiled, hoping he could reach him with a bit of humor. "Look at the silver lining, Charles. Our passion for each other is not likely to die out before we do."

"That is the most depressing silver lining I have ever heard." But he managed a small smile, trying to please her.

She chuckled sadly and sat upon his lap, still stroking his hair. "Yes, well, you take my meaning, love. Were there days when I thought my heart would break being so close to you and unable to say what I felt? When I could almost cry out in frustration that I could not simply reach out and touch you? Of course there were. And there were days like that for you; I know there were. But it wasn't _every _day. It wasn't even _most _days. Most days were absolutely lovely and I would wake up knowing I was about to spend the day with the man I loved. And every time we almost broke, it just brought us closer together."

She took his face in her hands and made him look her squarely in the eye. "We made our choices, Charles, and it's too late to change anything about the past. So I won't listen to your regrets. I could match each of them with one of my own, but I don't want to play that game. The world only spins in one direction, Charles. Either you spin with it or you fall off."

His sad, brown eyes locked on hers; earnest and blue. Slowly, a smile spread from his lips to his eyes. "Elsie Carson, have I mentioned today how very much I love you?"

"Once or twice, but it's one of those things a girl can never hear too often."

"Well, I do love you, my girl, even if I haven't earned the right to do so. It took me all those years to believe I could be worthy of you and I'm still not sure that I am."

"Then it's lucky for you, that I believe you are." She wrapped her arms around his neck, crossing her wrists behind his head.

"Elsie, you are my ideal; a sprite hovering round, 'like a dear heart willing to give me a thousand chances to regain your love.'"

"That's lovely, where have I heard that?" She struggled to remember.

"From The Little White Bird, the book you were reading when you wrote that letter."

"You cannot still have that memorized." He had a sharp mind for quotes, but this was impressive, even by his standards.

"I found my copy of the book in one of the boxes we emptied last weekend. It was easy to find my favorite page. I'd underlined that bit, thinking of you."

"When I read it, I had hoped you thought of me when you read it."

"Elsie, ever since I met you, everything makes me think of you. You were my little white bird and my Tinkerbell." He kissed the tip of her nose and ran her chains through his fingers, making the keys twinkle and chime.

"And you were my boy who would not grow up." She kissed his forehead sweetly.

"But I did grow up." He raised his chin and kissed her lips softly.

"Yes, you did."

"I'd like to show you how grownup I can be." He whispered.

She shifted playfully on his lap. "I think you might be growing right now."

"I'd like to show you _that_ too." He growled low into her ear.

She giggled as his lips tickled her earlobe. He kissed tenderly down the side of her neck. When she stood up, he smiled wickedly, assuming she was only doing so to reposition herself on his lap. He was very surprised and disappointed when she remained standing. "I believe my letter said something about you chasing me." And with that, she darted out of the kitchen. He heard her keys jingle as she ran down the hall to the drawing room, where they fell silent.

Chuckling, he rose, tenderly. He walked slowly and deliberately, following her into the drawing room. She was not there, but her dress was. Charles shed his vest and shirt as he listened. He heard a faint jingle in their office, the door of which was hidden from his view.

He walked with measured steps to the office door. He entered the office, knowing she would not be there. Instead, he found a small pile of stockings, shoes and a corset. Charles left his own shoes, socks and pants on the floor beside them.

A brief ringing of chains told him she had doubled back to the kitchen. But here, he found only her thin shift laying over the back of his chair. He left his undershirt folded neatly on her chair.

Now the keys sounded from the bedroom. They rang softly; beckoning him. Wearing only his undershorts, Charles stopped outside the closed bedroom door. He heard the chimes and knew she was ready to be caught. A mischievous thought occurred to him. She probably thought he was dashing around the flat trying to catch her. And so he had been. But instead of going through the door, he leaned against the wall beside it, determined to play a waiting game with her. He wondered how long would it take her to grow tired of waiting for him.

One minute passed. The keys continued to jingle intermittently. Another minute passed. The keys began to sound impatient. They jangled as she shook them harder, perhaps thinking that he could not hear them. He smiled. It would not be the first time his hearing had been questioned.

Finally, he heard her bare feet padding across the floor towards him. Charles pressed himself flat against the wall. She opened the door and looked down the hall towards the kitchen, as he had known she would. He allowed himself a moment to admire her, standing there with her back to him, in her knickers and lace bra. One hand was pressed to her hip in a posture of exasperation. "Daft man," he heard her mutter, before she raised the chatelaine in her other hand and shook it noisily.

He quickly slipped his arms around her and kissed her neck. The noise she emitted was between a shriek and a squeal. If he had not been holding her, she would have bolted away from him in fright. Laughing, Charles kissed her shoulder.

She panted and gasped, "Lord, Charles, you nearly scared the devil out of me!"

"I thought we were playing a game." He teased as his hands roamed her body, feeling where her soft skin met the silk and lace of her undergarments.

"We were. But, apparently, we were not playing the game I thought we were playing." She laughed. Her heart was still racing.

"I hope I did not frighten you too much, my lass."

"Frighten? No. But I must say, Charles Carson, you always manage to surprise me." She turned to face him.

He took the keys from her and led her into their bedroom by the hand. "I shall take that as a challenge, my love."

THE END

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**A/N FYI, Tootles is one of the Lost Boys, and also a lovely way to say adieu. **

**That's all for 1903 for the moment, I am off to focus on the 'present day' 1923, in ****_Perpetual Motion_**** but I am loving this era of Chelsie so much, I am certain there will be more. I love young Chelsie and I love the young Ladies Crawley, so, it's a good bet that I'll be visiting them again.**

**Public Service Announcement: Every comment is an affirmation that we writers are not just sending our words out into the cold abyss of cyberspace. Even if you've been lurking until now, I would appreciate a note to know if you would like more. Who am I kidding? I'll keep writing even if it is just for the same dozen or so, awesome people who review so faithfully and help inflate my ego (quite unnecessarily). **

**I know lots of Yanks are staying clear of the fanfics until series 4 has run on PBS. If you are a late comer, I still appreciate the reviews and they will shape future stories, I am sure. Even if you read this in 2023, I'd appreciate a note. **

**If you've any comments on this or any of my other stories, feel free to PM me. My friends and family have heard all my Downton theories and rambles. New blood is always welcome.**

**I will be back soon…until then, support your local Chelsie, **

**Chelsie Dagger**

* * *

** Acknowledgements::**

**Speaking of reviews, many thanks to those of you who have taken the time to comment, many of whom you will recognize as some of our amazing Chelsie authors. [GraysonSteele, GeordieLass, Happyheart2, Tammy333, Lmc443, BrittanyLS, LC, 713, sammiSTRICK, Mona Love, evitamockingbird, spokethewind, KC, Ilzzell,alwaysaGryffindor AND, of course, my chemistry loving pal, chelsiefan]**

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